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P O E M S 

BY 

MARY BAYARD CLARKE, 



MOSBEs 



ROLLING STONE; 



IDLE MOMENTS OF A BUSY WOMAN. 



TENELLA— Mary Bayard Clarke. 



"Tax not my sloth that I 
Fold my arms beside the brook ; 

Each cloud that floateth in the sky 
Writes a letter in my book." 

Ralph Waldo Emerson. 

RALEIGH, N. 0. ! 

WJT t B» SMITH & COMPANY, 
MDCCCLXVI, 



CtW 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1S66, by 

WM. B. SMITH & COMPANY, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, 

for the District of Pamlico, North Carolina. 



DEDICATION 



TO MY CHILDREN. 

Dear children, in life's busy round, 
Some idle moments I have found, 
In which I "ve paused to gather flowers, 
To cheer my many busy hour?. 
Here I have plucked a pleasant I 
And there a passing fancy caught, 
Now from the lake a lily took, 
And then a wild-flower from the brook : 
Where Texas winds the mesquii 
I from old Missions gathered moi s, 
Plucked tropic flowers from Cuba's isle 
"Neath everlasting- summer's smile, 
Twined passion flowers of crimson hue 
With the forget-me-nots pale blue; 
Then gathered grass from prairL 
And wove their blossoms in between ; 
Found here a joy and there a grief 
Hidden beneath some flower or leaf; 
A pleasant inem'ry bore from this, 
From that a smile, a tear, or kiss ; 
And now I twine, with hope and fear, 
These gathered flowers of many a yc ar, 
That if my Moss can do no more, 
It still may drape a ruin o*er, 
And gild the wreck which round us lies 
Of brighter hopes which ne'er can rise . 



But see ! reflected in my tears, 
Hope's rainbow o'er my wreath appears, 
And I, as in my childish days, 
Will seek, beneath its shifting rays, 
The pot op GOLD which may be found 
Just where the rainbow meets the ground 
And as my "Moss -1 abroad I send, 
Trust "Hone will in fruition end." 



CONTENTS, 



THE TRIUMPH OP SPRING !) 

A PHR( >DITE 23 

THE WATER-SPRITES BRIDAL SO 

LA PURISSTMA CONCEPTION :;<; 

IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN :: 

PASSION FLOWERS Hi 

WANDERING TENDRILS 

THE >:PAY NORTHER - > 

THE WINE OF LIKE W 

MY SPIRIT IS CALLING TO THINE :.'.» 

TOO LATE '.-■] 

THE FALLEN IDOL ! 

GATHERING SHELLS .; 

NIGHT BLOOMING FLOW KRS i;«J 

SHADOWS 71 

BITTER WATERS 73 

THE HOME OF MY BOYHOOD 75 

CHE SARA SARA 7S 

SONG— (From the German.) 70 

WHEN DOST THOU THINK OF ME? 80 

WOMAN'S DOWER 88 

FAKEWELL 83 

FORGET THEE? So 

SMILES AND KISSES 87 

TWILIGHT MUSINGS ;.■< 

MY CHILDREN !V 

THE RAIN UPON THE HILLS 

THE MOTHER'S DREAM ,, . ,.,, 



\ 1 1 r CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

NEMO SEMPER FELIX EST 103 

[AM THAT I AM 105 

THE POT OP INCENSE 107 

J )AY BREA K 108 

THE FUNERAL OF HENRY CLAY 110 

ANNIE GARTER LEE 113 

AN EPITHANATON 110 

RAL ROBERT E. LEE 118 

UAH EDEN, THE QUEEN OF THE ANT1LES 130 

TRANSLATIONS. 

ODE SUR \AlM-i EON' id 

LB PET] P UMj 

ART AND THE PEOPLE KV1 

CHILDHOOD'S QNIVERSAL PRAYER 19 

( ONFRONTA TIONS 1 35 

F -.v.-- I -OR HISTORY 137 

HILDE HAROLD 139 

NUPTIAL HYMN OF THE GREEKS 142 

: ■: BUTTERFLY 115 

LINES OH AN ALBUM 140 

THESNAIL 147 

THE WITHERED LEAF 148 

THE FALL OF THE LEAVES 140 

PRAY FOR ME 152 

CLASP THY LITTLE HANDS i§| 

TEARS 150 

WHAT 158 

MUST I FORGET? 150 

BEAUTY AND VIRTUE 101 

FRANCESCA DA RIMINI 10sj 

INVOCATION- TQ DEATH 164 

THE ECHO OF THE HARP 105 

DEATH ., ,,.,,, • , 160 



MOSSES 

FROM A 

ROLLING STONE. 



THE TRIUMPH OF SPRING. 

The Ice-King opened his frozen gate3 to hold high 
court one day, 

And his liege-men all were summoned there, duti- 
ful homage to pay. 

His palace was built of vemless blocks, hewn in 
the frigid zone, 

And lit with a gleam of rosy light from an Aurora 
thrown. 

His sea-green throne was a frozen wave brought 
from the northern pole, 

Which seemed with its frozen crest congealed ere 
it had ceased to roll. 

Drest in his dazzling robes he sat in his council- 
chamber wide. 



10 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 

And cast on its strong and lofty walls a glance of 

haughty pride : 
A sceptre of ice in his hand he held, which glittered 

with many a gem ; 
While the diamond and opal's changing light 

flashed from his diadem. 
His mantle of snow around him fell in many a spot- 
less fold, 
With an edge of lace-work, rich and light, wrought 

by the Hoar-Frost cold. 
He smiled as his warriors round him came, clad all 

in frozen mail, 
Their gleaming swords the icicles sharp — their 

darts the rattling hail. 
There stood the North- Wind, wrapped in clouds, 

with his dark forbidding face, 
The piercing East-Wind, clear and cold, with his 

subtle, treacherous grace ; 
And there was the still and silent Sleet, with his 

armour glittering bright, 
And the stinging Frost, both Black and Hoar, who 

only work at night. 

" My children," he said, " my liege-men bold, 
hearken to my command — 



THE TKIUMPH OP SPKING. 11 

Meddlesome Spring is seeking again to enter my 

chosen land ; 
When first she stole on me unawares and melted 

my jewels bright, 
I swore in my wrath I never would see the mis- 
chievous, troublesome sprite ; 
What care I for her bright green leaves, her buds 

and flowers so gay ? 
My mantle of snow and my icy gems are lovelier 

far than they. 
And sweeter, too, are my rushing winds with their 

whistle keen and sharp, 
Than the softest notes she ever drew from the 

strings of her woodland harp. 
Then hang my jewels on every bough, and let my 

cold winds blow — 
And, lest she hide in the bosom of earth, go, bury 

it deep in snow. 
For I'll let her know a king am I whom none dare 

disobey, 
In fetters of ice I'll bind her fast and sweep her 

flowers away. 
And if, in spite of my solemn oath, she seeks an 

entrance here, 
I order you all to drive her forth at the point of 

sword and spear." 



12 MOSSES PROM A ROLLING STONE. 

They bowed them low at his behest, for he was a 

mighty king, 
And by his sceptre each one swore to conquer 

treacherous Spring. 
The North-Wind blew his rudest blast to meet the 

Southern breeze, 
While the silent Sleet, as the rain-drops fell, with 

icicles gemmed the trees. 
The lowering Snow-clouds veiled the Sun, lest 

Spring should lurk in his ray, 
And the Hoar-Frost sealed the earth like a stone to 

drive her thence away : 
And over the fields a pall was cast — a pall of whi- 
test snow — 
Beneath whose folds all life was chilled, and 

Nature's pulse beat low. 
And when from his throne, on the wings of the 

storm, the Ice-King forth did ride, 
He saw not a nook in all the land where he fancied 

Spring could hide. 
Each shrub, and tree, and blade of grass, that 

peeped from the snowy pall, 
Was cased in a sparkling sheen of ice that the Sleet 

had laid on all. 
The Sun was hid by a murky cloud that hung like 

a gathering frown, 



THE TRIUMPH OP SPRING. 13 

And the air was filled with the driving snow, that, 

ghost-like floated down ; 
While the breast of earth by the frost was raised, 

as though it heaved a sigh 
For the genial warmth of prisoned Sjjring, as the 

frigid king rushed by. 
(i Ha ! ha !" he shouted and dashed along, " this, 

this is but sport to me, 
The beauties of Spring, what are they, I pray, to 

Winter's boisterous glee ?" 
And then in his joy he tossed the snow in many a 

drift and mound, 
Rattling the ice-boughs till they cracked and fell 

to the frozen ground. 
But he wearied soon of such stormy sport, and slept 

in his palace of snow, 
" My liege-men " he said, " can conquer Spring, for 

they hold all above and below. 1 ' 

For a while fast bound in a chain of ice the deft- 
fingered fairy lay, 

But she silently kissed each frozen link till she 
melted them all away : 

With timid steps she slowly moved, till in every 
warrior's breast 



14 MOSSES FBOM A ROLLING STONE. 

Suspicion of her near approach was wholly lulled 

to rest. 
Then, with gentle wiles each foe she plies till the 

West-Winds gently play, 
And the Snow-clouds melt before their breath, or, 

spirit-like float away. 
The silent Sleet next owns her power, and lets his 

ice-darts fall, 
As gently from the frozen earth she draws its snowy 

pall; 
The Frost no longer seals its breast, the fruit-trees 

burst in bloom, 
While the meek-eyed violet lifts its head and 

sighs a sweet perfume. 
But alas ! one day in her earnest zeal she bade the 

Zephyrs blow, 
And their balmy breath was wafted on to the Ice- 
king's home of snow. 
( What, ho !" he cried, and started up, " I felt the 

breath of Spring, 
The lazy Zephyrs fan my brow, and birds begin to 

sing." 
Then he called for the treach'rous East- Wind cold, 

and swept the startled land, 
Till the Hoar-Frost worked and the rain-drops fell 

once more at his command. 



THE TRIUMPH OP SPRING. 15 

His ice-clad warriors rose from sleep at his rattling 

chariot's sound. 
They waved their gleaming swords on high and 

scattered their arrows round : 
They shook the trees till the blossoms fell before 

their stormy wrath, 
And strewed them with their icy breath in the 

angry monarch's path. 
The Hoar-Frost stamped on the springing grass 

and seared its tender blade ; 
And the shivering mock-bird hushed his note, of 

the driving blast afraid. 
How often thus by Death's cold hand our joys are 

snatched away, 
While by his breath our bursting hopes are blighted 

in a day ! 
Yet the wounded heart can better bear affliction's 

stormy night 
Than the lingering death its love must die if cold 

indifference blight. 
But rouse ye ! hearts who mourn o'er this, take 

courage from the fay, 
And strive, like her, by loving wiles to melt the 

frost away. 
She had bravely fought 'gainst sleet and snow, the 

driving hail and rain : 



16 MOSSES FKOM A ROLLING STONE. 

She had stilled the North- Wind's rudest blast and 

melted his icy chain. 
With her balmy breath and her sunny smile she 

worked with right good will, 
Though the Hoar-Frost keen in the silent night did 

terrible mischief still. 
Around her steps lay blighted buds and withered 

leaf and flower, 
Yet she bravely said " I'll never yield to the Ice- 
King's cruel power ; 
For I'll hie me away to his frozen court in my robe 

of brightest green, 
And I'll melt his heart with such tender love he'll 

woo me for his queen." 

The Ice-King sat on his emerald throne — drest in 

his robes of state, 
But his warriors saw his heart was filled with wrath 

and vengeful hate. 
With a withering glance of rage and scorn he turned 

to where they stood 
" And so " he cried " the fairy Spring has made her 

entrance good ; 
Did I not bid ye ward to keep, and guard 'gainst 

each device — 



THE TRIUMPH OP SPRING. 17 

To bind her fast to the breast of Earth with an ada- 
mant chain of ice ? 

Ye are faithless servants, one and all, and I trust 
you now no more, 

But I myself, both night and day, will guard my 
palace door. 1 ' 

Slowly they turned and moved away, they could 
not meet his look, 

For a deadly languor o'er them crept, and all like 
cowards shook. 

But all unmoved the angry king walked slowly up 
and down, 

And dark and vengeful were his thoughts and ter- 
rible his frown ; 

He swore in an iceberg, strong and cold, he'd prison 
the mischievous fay, 

And bind it fast to the northern pole, out of the 
reach of day. 

Like muttering thunder — deep, not loud — his 
sounding curses rolled 

Through his spacious courts, his vacant halls, his 
corridors lone and cold. 

But hark ! a murmuring sound he hears, with dis- 
tant music low : 

Can it be the song of triumph raised by the con- 
queror of his foe ? 



18 MOSSES PROM A ROLLING STONE. 

As he strode through his lonely silent halls to fling 

the portal wide 
He little dreamed she was smiling there — just on 

the other side ! 



But he knew her not when he saw her stand — a 

maiden young and fair, 
With the dewy buds of the pink moss-rose twined 

in her golden hair ; 
In her little hand a harp she bore, and the music 

from its strings 
Was the joyous song of the forest bird and the hum 

of the wild bee's wings. 
Like sporting Cupids by her side, attendant 

Zephyrs danced, 
And the rugged king forgot his wrath and stood 

like one entranced. 
Meekly to him she raised her eyes, of the deepest 

violet blue, 
While a mantling blush stole o'er her cheek like 

the sunset's rosy hue ; 
" I come," she said, " from a distant land whence I 

fled from a mighty foe ; 
A refuge I seek in your icy courts and palace of 

sparkling snow." 



THE TRIUMPH OP SPRING. 19 

" Come in, come in," the monarch said, " a beauti- 
ful thing art thou, 
With thy velvet robe of living green and the 

flowers upon thy brow ; 
And it may be our foe's the same — the mischievous 

fairy Spring — 
But she's worse, by far, than e'er I dreamed, to 

harm such a tender thing. 
Nay, shrink not, fair one, from my touch," he said 

and kissed her brow, 
" Thou hast sought a home in my icy courts — a 

home and a heart hast thou." 
And as he gazed on the lovely sprite his heart 

began to glow, 
For love sprang up in his frozen breast like violets 

in the snow : 
The gentle Zephyrs from his dress, unheeded, 

plucked each gem, 
They bore his sceptre of ice away and reft his dia- 
dem; 
He did not see his palace walls were melting fast 

away, 
He gazed alone with passionate love on that bright 

and sparkling fay. 
She nestled close to his frozen heart, its haughty 

pride to melt, 



20 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 

Till he led her gently to his throne and at her foot- 
stool knelt. 

"Joy, joy!" she cried, u I've triumphed now, the 
Ice-King kneels to Spring |" 

He said not a word, but he bowed him low to the 
tiny radiant thing, 



APIIIIODITK. SI 



APHRODITE. 

'Twas in the Spring-time of the world, 
The sun's red banners were unfurled, 
And slanting rays of golden light 
Just kissed the billows tipped with white, 
And through the water's limpid blue 
Flashed down to where the sea-weed grew ; 
While rainbow hues of every shade 
Across the restless surface played. 
Then, as the rays grew stronger still, 
They sought the sea-girt caves to fill, 
And sparkled on the treasures rare, 
That all unknown were hidden there. 
Roused by their warm electric kiss 
The ocean thrilled with wak'ning bliss, 
Its gasping sob and heaving breast 
The power of in-born life confest. 
But, though their waves were tossed ashore. 
Upon their crests no life they bore. 

Deep hidden in its darkest cave 
Unmoved by current, wind or wave, 



$2 MOSSES PROM A ROLLING STONE. 

A purple shell, of changing shade, 

By nature's careful hand was laid ; 

The clinging sea-weed, green and brown, 

With fibrous grasp still held it down 

Despite the water's restless flow ; 

But when they caught that deep'ning glow 

They flushed with crimson, pink and gold, 

And from the shell unclasped their hold. 

Its shadowy bonds thus drawn aside, 

It upward floated on the tide ; 

But still its valves refuse to yield, 

And still its treasure was concealed. 

Close shut upon the waves it lay 

Till warmly kissed by one bright ray, 

When lo I its pearly tips unclose, 

As ope the petals of the rose ; 

And pure and fresh as morning dew 

Fair Aphrodite rose to view. 

First— like a startled child amazed — 

On earth, and air, and sea she gazed, 

Then shook the wavy locks of gold 

That o'er her neck and bosom rolled, 

Loosened the cestus on her breast, 

'Gainst which her throbbing heart now prest ; 

For ah ! its clasp could not restrain 

The new-born life, that thrilled each vein, 



APHBODITE. 

Flushed to her rosy fingers' tips, 
And deeply dyed her parted lips, 
Spread o'er her cheek its crimson glow 
And tinged her heaving bosom's snow. 
Conscious of beauty and its power 
She owns the influence of the hour. 
Instinct with life attempts to rise, 
Her quick-drawn breath melts into sighs, 
Her half elosed eyes in moisture swim, 
And languid droops each rounded limb ; 
With yielding grace her lovely head 
Sinks back upon its pearly bed, 
Where changing shades of pink attest 
The sj>ot her glowing cheek hath prest, 
There all entranced she silent lay, 
Borne on 'mid showers of silvery spray, 
Which caught the light and backward fell 
In sparkling diamonds round her shell. 
Thus, wafted by the western breeze, 
Cythera's flowery isle she sees ; 
Its spicy odours round her float, 
And thither glides her purple boat ; 
And, when its prow had touched the land, 
There stepped upon the golden sand 
With life, and love, and beauty warm, 
A perfect woman's matchless form> 



24 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 

The tale is old, yet always new 
To every heart which proves it true ; 
The limpid waters of the soul 
In snow-crowned waves of feeling roll, 
Until love's soft pervading light 
Has into colour kissed the white. 
And in its deep recesses shown 
Rich treasures to itself unknown, 
Though many restless sob and sigh 
Nor ever learn the reason why ; 
Whilst others wake with sudden start 
To feel the glow pervade their heart, 
Flash down beneath its surface swell 
And shine on Passion's purple shell, 
Change to the rainbow's varying hue 
The ties it may not rend in two ; 
Till doubts and fears which held it fast 
Beneath Love's glow relax their grasr> ; 
Slowly the net.work fades away 
Like fleecy clouds at opening day, 
And Passion woke by warmth and light 
In dcep'ning shades springs into sight. 

Cut man the shell too often holds, 
Nor sees the beauty it enfolds ; 
Its close shut valves refuse to part 
And show the depths of woman's heart. 



APHBODITE. 25 

And tossing on life's billows high 
The purple shell unoped may lie, 
Till cast on Death's cold, rocky shore, 
Its life and longing both are o'er. 
But if Love's warm entrancing light 
Shall kiss the parting lips aright, 
And wake to life the beauty rare 
Which nature's self hath hidden there, 
Beneath his soft enraptured smile 
'Tis wafted to the flowery isle, 
And Aphrodite steps ashore 
A perfect woman — nothing more. 



26 MOSSES FROM A~ROLLING STONE. 



THE WATER-SPRITE'S BRIDAL. 

The Rio San Antonio is one of the most beautiful streams 
in Texas. It bursts from a basin of white lime-stone, twenty 
feet deep and nine or ten in circumference, the irregular sides 
of which are covered to the bottom with water-cresses in every 
stage of vegetation, from the vivid green of the half-open leaf 
to the crimson and yellow of the passing one ; so the Spring, 
when the sun shines into it, seems lined with a tapestry of 
jewels woven on a ground-work of silver. Near it may gen- 
erally be found in bloom a small white lily, as fragrant as the 
tube-rose, Avhich springs up after every shower, and, in a sin- 
gle night, will cover the prairie as the stars the heavens. Ita 
pure white chalice is a fit emblem of the perfect love shadowed 
forth in the following allegory : 

On the borders of a river 

i 
In our sunny southern land, 

Long ago a fairy princess 

Dwelt with her attendant band. 
Hidden from all mortal vision 

Was each tiny elfin shajDe, 
Seeming now a darting sunbeam 

'Mid the olive and the grape : 
Now a sparkle on the river 

As it gurgling glides along, 



the water-sprite'sjbridal. 27 

Whilst its ever murmuring ripple 

Was the echo of their song. 
Sporting in its limpid coolness 

If they splashed the water high, 
It was but the cascade foaming 

When it met a mortal's eye ; 
If in fairy frolic leaped they 

From the river in their play, 
Instantly they seemed bright rainbows 

Woven in the dashing spray. 
If they lurked 'mid leafy shadows 

Quivering sunbeams sparkled there, 
If they danced upon the meadow 

Dewy fragrance filled the sir. 
Lights and sounds of nature were they 

Unto mortal eye and ear, 
But the Water-Sprite might see them 

In their fairy forms appear. 
Hid behind the cascade's curtain, 

Lurking in the golden sand, 
Peeping from some mossy crevice, 
Oft he watched the fairy band. 
Carelessly they bathed and sported, 

Little dreaming they were seen, 
Feeding thus his growing passion 
For their loved and lovely queen. 



28 MOSSES PROM A ROLLING STONE. 

Eagerly lie watched her daily 

As she laid her robes aside, 
And, with her attendant maidens, 

Plunged into the cooling tide. 
There each day she longer lingered 

Whilst his passion stronger grew, 
Till he almost was a mortal 

In the suffering that he knew. 
Now with rainbow hopes elated, 

Then in deep and black despair 
Trembling with his sweet emotion, 

Swayed by trifles light as air. 
Luring her with wiles most loving 

To the shady river side, 
Rushing, when he saw her coming, 

'Neath the lily leaves to hide. 

But one day the fairy came not, 

In the meadow did not stray, 
Though he listened, watched and waited 

Through a long, long summer's day. 
Bursting then each fear that bound him 

All his passion uncontrolled 
Wildly leaping in his bosom, 

Through his veins like lava rolled. 
Eagerly he sought his treasure 

All along the river side, 



THE WATER-SPRITE'S BRIDAL. 29 

Burning now to tell the feeling 

Heretofore he sought to hide. 
In a wooded dell he found her 

Weeping 'neath a linden tree, 
Not a thought of self came o'er him 

As he lowly bent his knee. 
" "Who hath wounded thee, my darling ? " 

Were the words that from him burst — ■ 
Not his passion, but her sorrow — 

Stirred his gen'rous spirit first. 
Starting from him in amazement, 

Up the little beauty sprang, 
And the pride of all her lineage 

In her startled accents rang : 
" Wherefore do you dare to seek me 

When I fain would be alone ?" 
But he saw surprise was struggling 

With the anger of her tone. 
Lifted were the gates of silence, 

Love, like wine, now made him bold, 
Wondering at his former shyness 

AW his passion then he told. 
Anger vanished as she listened, 

Trembling with a new-born bliss, 
Timidly she nestled to him 

Ancl returned his glowing kiss. 



30 MOSSES FKOM A ROLLING STONE. 

In a warm, bright stream, electric 

To her lip his passion thrilled, 
And with rosy hues advancing 

All her wakened spirit rilled. 
Like a lily-bud unfolding, 

In the flowery month of May, 
To his love her soul expanded 

As upon his heart she lay. 
Love — the pure ethereal passion — 

Wells from nature's throbbing heart, 
And, though mortals quaff it deepest, 

Spirits also claim a part. 
With its joy they taste its sorrow, 

So the Wood-Nymph and the Sprite 
Found that nature's bright elixir 

Was not all unmixed delight. 
Waking from his blissful reverie 

In her ear he whispers low, 
" Wilt thou wed with me, my darling V 

And she sighing answers, " No ; 
Knowst thou not that woodland fairies 

Only wed among themselves ? 
We are flowers, and, like them, wither 

If we mate with other elves. 
Should I yield me to thy wooing 

I'd no longer be a fay, 



THE WATER-SPRITE'S BRIDAL. 31 

Wedded to a Water-Spirit 

All my power would fade away." 
« But," lie pleaded, " in my kingdom 

Thou wilt share the power that's mine, 
For the moment that I clasp thee 

Half my nature melts'in thine ; 
Queen of both the land and water 

Shall my little princess reign, 
Neither land nor Water-Spirit, 

But a mingling of the twain." 

Thus he wooed — and wooing won her ; 

Doubts and fears were laid aside, 
And she passed into the river 
As the Water-Spirit's bride. 
To his bosom fondly clinging 

Downward from the light of day, 
Downward from the sun and'flowers, 

Sank the half unconscious fay ; 
Down to where earth's deepest fountains 

Bubbled from their sands of gold, 
And her subterranean rivers 

From theiivhidden; sources rolled. 
Cold and dark tocher those caverns, 

Which to him were warm and bright, 
And but half a Water-Spirit 
Soon she trembled with affright. 



MOSSES PROM A ROLLING STONE. 

Tenderly he soothed and cheered her, 

Drew her closer to his side, 

As her lingering fairy nature 

Vainly she essayed to hide. 

But he felt it quivering in her — 

Saw his bliss to her was pain, 

And so true and pure his passion 

That he bore her back again. 
Then, the long imprisoned river 
Following as he upward went, 
With a mighty leap exultant 

Through its rocky arches rent — 
Rent them as love rends the fetters 

Prudence doth 'gainst passion urge, 
When the glowing waves of feeling 

In a mortal's bosom surge. 
Darkly through its hidden caverns 
Still the river might have rushed, 
But the rock by love was smitten 

And its waters outward gushed. 
Onward, upward, bubbling, gurgling 

In a silver stream they rise, 
Till in sunlight 'mid the flowers 

Once again the fairy lies. 
Welling from a rocky basin, 
Shaded by o'erhangingMnes, 



THE WATER-SPRITE'S BRIDAL. 33 

Peaceful as a sleeping infant, 
Now the placid water shines. 

Thus the fairy legend telleth 

Yonder winding river first, 
As a Spirit's bridal chamber 

From its rocky sources burst. 
Not for it the small beginning 

" Winning tribute as it flows," 
But at once in perfect being 

Aphrodite-like it rose. 
Sacred unto Sprite and Fairy 

Still its lovely birth-place seems, 
For the sparkle of their presence 

On its water ever gleams. 
Rainbow tints are o'er it glinting, 

Silver rocks around it shine, 
Whilst like tapestry the cresses 

All its inner chambers line. 
Every hue that autumn flingeth 

O'er the leaves that wave in air, 
Mingled with the green of summer, 

Have the fairies woven there ; 
Shining through the limpid waters 

Every perfect leaflet bright 
Sparkles like a brilliant jewel 

With an opalescent light. 



34 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 

Wood-land flowers of every color 

Round the rocky sides are hung, 
Whilst o'er all a misty vapor 

Like a silver veil is flung. 
Snowy lilies round it glisten 

Shedding fragrance on the air, 
Emblems of the tricksy spirits, 

Who are ever hov'ring there ; 
" Almanitas," I have named them, 

For it meaneth " little fairy, 1 ' 
And, like Sprites, they come and vanish 

From the bosom of the prairie ; 
Springing after every shower, 

Soon their starry blooms appear, 
Fresh and pure as crystal dew-drops, 

In all seasons of the year. 
Neither land nor water-lilies, 

But a mingling of the twain, 
Seeming from the clouds descending 

In the falling droj)s of rain. 

Like a shining silver ribbon, 
Waving in a gentle breeze, 
.Onward glides the winding river 

Under overhanging trees. 
Sleeping now in darkest shadow 
Still and deep its water flows, 



THE WATER-SPRITE 'S BRIDAL. 35 

Flashing like a stream of diamonds, 

Laughing, leaping, on it goes ; 
But a magic spell is o'er it, 

Haunting all its winding way, 
With the mem'ry of that wooing 

And the Spirit's bridal day. 



36 MOSSES FKOM A ROLLING STONE. 



LA PURISSIMA CONCEPTION. 

The Spanish Missions in, and around, San Antonio de Bexar 
are the most interesting features of the place ; the Alamo is too 
well known to need more than a passing notice. It is within 
the city limits and is used by the U. S. government as a quar" 
ter master's depot; but La Purissima Conception, San Josa 
and San Juan de Capestrana are given up to the owls, bats and 
a few Mexicans of the lowest class. They all lie on the San 
Antonio river, the towers of one being just visible from tha 
roof of the next. They were originally strongly fortified. The 
chapel and cloisters of the monks stood in the centre of a pla- 
za which was surrounded by a stone wall, against the inner 
side of which were the jacals, or huts of the Indians under 
their care ; at the gate of this wall was a guard-house in which 
were the quarters of the Spanish soldiers, a certain number of 
whom were allowed to each Mission for protection. La Garita 1 
or the watch-tower, stands on an eminence about a mile from 
the city, in the American cemetery. It commands a view of 
the country for miles around, and when the war parties of the 
hostile Carancahues, or "flesh-eaters," who, as their name 
eignifies, were cannibals, came down, it was the duty of the 
sentinel stationed there to light a fire on its roof. This signal 
could be seen at La Conception, thence it was passed to San 
JoBe and San Juan, and the flocks of the good fathers, warned 
by the loud tolling of the bell, hurried from the fields around 
to the fold of the Mission until the danger had passed. 

Where the hills of GaudaloupG into rolling prai- 
rie sink, 

Stands a quaint old SjDanish Mission close beside 
the river's brink : 



LA PUHISSIMA CONCEPTION. &7 

For a hundred years deserted, still it grimly lifts 
its head 

Like a skeleton all ghastly, speaking of the moul- 
dering dead. 

La Purissiina Conception it was called in other 
days, 

When its gray old walls resounded with Francis- 
can hymns of praise. 

As the deep-toned Spanish soldier answered to the 

holy friar, 
Whilst the dusky Indian maidens sweetly chanted 

in the choir. 

Then, the effigies unbroken, of the Virgin and her 

child, 
High above the pointed door-way on the simple 

people smiled; 

And the bell at morn and even gently called them 
unto prayer, 

Or with loud and solemn ringing sent its warning- 
through the air. 

Now, its glory has departed. La Purissima no 

more, 
Steads were in the chapel stabled, camp-fires lit 

upon its floor ; 



38 MOSSES PROM A ROLLING STONE. 

Cross and altar both have vanished, and the figures 

cut in stone 
Looking downward from their niches, gaze upon a 

wreck alone. 

For the vacquero is dwelling in the cloister of the 

friar, 
And the bat comes forth at even from the rafters of 

the choir. 

Here one eve I upward clambered, whilst the rub- 
bish round me fell, 

Till I stood within that tower where was hung the 
mission bell ; 

At my feet the rolling prairie, like a boundless 

ocean lay, 
And the snowy horned poppies crested every wave 

with spray ; 

Here and there, like white feluccas, anchored in a 

sea of green, 
Cots of ranchSros were standing, whilst the cattle 

grazed between. 

Like a crowded port the city lay beside a fringe of 
wood, 

In the midst its old cathedral, like a battered war- 
ship stood. 



LA PURISSIMA CONCEPTION. 39 

Northward lay the Verimandi where the gallant 

Milam died, 
And La Casa de la Garza stood upon the other 

side ; 

Both baptized with blood of patriots at the storm- 
ing of the town, 

They will stand in freedom's story when their walla 
have crumbled down. 

Watching o'er them, to the eastward, rose the far- 
famed Alamo, 

With the ashes of its heroes mould'ring in the soil 
below. 

To Sparta from its glorious field Thermopylae sent 

one — 
To bear its message of defeat the Alamo had 

none. 

Southward by the winding river loomed the towers 

of San Jos6,* 
While San Juanf de Capestrana on the blue horizon 

lay. 

Like a light-house La Garita rose alone amid the 
dead, 

* Pronounced San Ho-say. 
t Pronounced San Whan. 



40 MOSSES FKOM A ROLLING STONE. 

Whence of yore the fiery beacon, warning of the 
savage, spread. 

For in those old days of peril every Mission was a 

fort, 
And the carv6d saints yet standing watched above 
the soldier's court. 

Which with massive walls protected priest and 

neophyte from harm ; 
Winding round the church and cloisters, like a 

strong encircling arm. 

For a fell simoon descending came the fierce Car- 

ancahue,* 
Sweeping o'er the startled country, like a ravening 

beast of prey. 

And a sentinel watched ever in the belfry square 

and high, 
For a sign from La Garita that the savage foe was 

nigh. 

If its beacon smoke ascended, then, the great bell's 

booming sound, 
Gathered in the friendly Indians from the country 

all around. 

* Pronounced Carankaway. 



LA PURISSIMA COXCErTION. 41 

For the Mission gates were opened offering refuge 

unto all, 
\Yhile the sacred cross uplifted stood uponthe outer 

wall. 

Now, their battlements have fallen, but these grand 

old chapels gray, ' 
Though deserted, stand defying ruthless man and 

time's decay. 

Nobly wrought those brave Franciscans, head com- 
bined with heart and hand, 

And the towers of these old Missions as their sacred 
tomb-stones stand. 

Oh ! as such let all respect them, and whatever faith 

they hold, 
Guard from vandal desecration monuments so 

grand and bold. 



42 Wmm FROM A ROLLING STONE. 



"IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN." 

" It might have been." *Jn these tour \ronls how 

much of feeling lies ; 
No sadder wail can from a emptied and bleeding- 
heart arise. 
For grief is e'er most bitter, when with skillful 

artist hand 
She bids the joys which might have been before 

the sufferer stand. 
Whilst happiness glows like the diamond yet more 

purely bright, 
If with black sorrow we contrast its opalescent 

light. 
As tears will from the eyelid with both joy and 

sorrow start — 
" It might have been \ n bursts with each wave of 

feeling from the heart. 
When Death, the reaper, leaves the fields of ripe 

and golden grain, 
To wield his sickle 'mid the flowers which round 

our hearths we train, 
>Yhen withered buds and blossoms mark his sten 

|jrom door to door. 



W IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN." 43 

Till scarce a threshold's left his foot has not passed 

o'er. 
How will the mother on whose hearth-stone he has 

failed to tread, 
When for the grave she wreaths some lovely little- 
golden head, 
Sigh in the fullness of a heart surcharged with 

solemn joy, 
For this it might have been my fate to deck your 

brow — my boy — 
While the crushed heart of her, whose bud wa s 

blighted ere 'twas blown, 
Turns from each smiling babe to cry, " thus might 

have been my own.'' 
When in the mellow ripeness of its love the soul 

doth strive 
To keep the dead cold ash.es of a youthful flame 

alive, 
And, with the richness of life's tide throbbing in 

every vein. 
Seeks in another heart to pour its rare old wine 

again. 
Bringing a tempered, glowing passion to the self- 
same shrine 
On which in earlier years the leaping, changing 

flame did shine. 



44 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 

How often Avill it find its golden image turned to 

lead, 
Its wild flower wreath of feeling withered — all its 

rose-buds dead — 
"Whilst in that barren soil the passion flowers of 

later life 
Refuse to spread their crimson petals with rich 

perfume rife. 
Oh ! then will it not cry, u had I been wiser in my 

spring, 
What bright and fragrant blo3sons might my glow- 
ing summer bring." 
And, as it sighing thinks how fair its present might 

have been, 
Crush all love's genial warmth and tenderness — not 

out — but in. 
For, like green moss on crumbling walls, there's 

many a heart which lives 
Feeding itself but on the thoughts the past unto it 

gives ; 
Whilst in its core remorse with its relentless hand 

doth turn 
The barbed grief, which there unseen doth ever fret 

and burn, 
Seeking no sharper, fiercer torture to avenge a 

sin 



" IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN." 45 

Than thai which hidden lies wrapped in the 

thought, tv it might have been. 11 
Then, in the night, like ghosts, neglected duties 

rise, 
And whisper to the conscious heart, " 'tis here the 

evil lies ; 
It' thisjou had but done, or thai had but forborne 

to Clo, 
The pang which pierces now your soul might have 

been spared to you." 
For ah ! we truest measure sorrow — not by present 

grief— 
But by that rankling' pang to which time brings 

us no relief; 
lie who has not Written on "the red leave-- of 

\\\> heart " 
■• It might have been^ knows not griefs keenest-, 

sharpest dart ; 
V^v in life's wake these solemn words forever more 

must glide, 
Feeding, like a grim shark, on the dead hopes 

we've east aside. 



46 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 



PASSION FLOWERS. 

Some time beside her path a stately tropic plant 

had stood, 
And though she knew that it could bloom, she 

dreamed not that it would ; 
So, carelessly she brushed its leaves aside, and 

'neath their shade 
She sought pale lilies of the vale, which, wet with 

dew, she laid 
Upon her bosom, where more fragrant every hour 

they grew, 
And, though their bells might droop, their perfume 

was forever new. 
Well may the French in liquid accents call them 

" Je vous aime,'' 
No other flower so well becomes a soft and loving 

name ; 
Fit emblem of that peaceful love that passion never 

knows, 
Which like a glistening pearl beside a flashing dia- 
mond glows. 



PASSION FtOWEKS. 47 

'Twas in an atmosphere of this unchanging love 

she dwelt, 
Drew in its subtle fragrance with each breath — 

unseen — but felt. 
No deep emotion stirred the placid waters of her 

soul, 
But loving words and tender looks like low, sweet 

music stole 
O'er every sense ; it was a melody made in the 

heart, 
This love which with her grew, until of life itself 

it seemed a part. 
One morn, ah ! I remember well, she stood trans- 
fixed — amazed— 
For lo ! that stately plant burst into bloom e'en 

while she gazed, 
If buds it had, so like the leafy green to her they 

seemed, 
She had not looked for flowers, and fancied still 

she dreamed. 
" What !" said she, " is this beauty and this fra- 
grance all my own, 
Or has some spell of magic power been o'er me 

thrown ?" 
The summer breeze bent down the boughs with 

floral treasures hung, 



48 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 

And at her feet the gorgeous blossoms lavishly 

were flung ; 
Their long curved pistils outward fxnit liMe tongues 

of flame. 
And from each crimson tithe n rich ami subtle 

essence eamf, 
A sweet perfume, as though all India's spicy odors 

blent. 
To overwhelm with one intoxicating, fragrant 

scent. 
Subdued and overpowered— she stood awhile like 

one afraid, 
Then suddenly to grasp a llower most eagerly 

essayed ; 
With nervous haste she caught the thickly falling 

blossoms up, 
And breathed the fatal incense streaming' from each 

scarlet cup. 
Unheeded at her feet the unobtrusive lilies 

lay, 
Which, till that mora, she had been wont to gather 

every day ; 
For now the diamond's brilliaail ray iir>t flashed 

upon her sight, 
And with its shifting rainbow hues obscured the 

peaiTs pale light. 



PASSION FLOWERS. 49 

Not * w Jcvous aiine," but Passion Flowers upon her 

heart she laid, 
And fondly fancied — all ! vain hope — their beauty 

could not fade. 
More and more lovely— for a while — and far more 

fragrant, too. 
"flic broad green leaves and rich red blossoms to 

her fancy grew, 
Whilst she — luxuriating in their beauty and their 

scent — „ 
Too late discovered all was in their opening glory 

SIKllf. 

Unlike the >- Je vous aime,' 1 still, fragrant when 

their bells were dead, 
These Passion Flowers were scentless ere their 

crimson hues had fled ; 
Xo wintry blast, no summer's storm their glowing 

netals tried. 
Burst by a single breath in bloom — as suddenly 

they died. 
Remembering them all other flowers to her have 

scentless grqfvn, 
And now, along life's weary path, she finds but 

thorns alone. 



50 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE!. 



WANDERING TENDRILS. 

As the frail vine, which closely elings 

Around the tree it hath entwined, 
Some wandering tendrils outward flings, 

Another resting place to find ; 
So did my fancy turn to thee, 

And fate the search has kindly blest ; 
For though the vine quits not the tree, 

Some of its tendrils round thee rest. 

By careless eyes these links unseen 

Shall lengthen whereso'er I go, 
And memory keep each tendril green 

Which fancy from my soul may throw. 
Though brighter flowers for thee may bloom, 

Or greener vines may closer twine, 
My heart shall feel no jealous gloom, 

Contented with its share of thine. 

Then murmur not, nor e'er repine 
That fate has cast our lots apart. ; 

For fancy's tendrils still shall twine 
Elastic links around thy heart. 



WANDERTNC. TENDRILS. 



51 



And though wc meet not face to face, 
Yet soul to soul we still may cling, 

And feel We've each a resting place, 

Where wandering tendrils we may fling. 



MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 



THE GRAY NORTHER. 

The northwest winds, or as they are culled in Texas, " North- 
ers " are of three kinds, known as wet, clear and gray North- 
ers: these last are by far the most severe, as they are not 
accompanied by rain, which generally moderates the wind, or 
cheered by thai bright sunshine which renders a Clear Norther, 
when not too violent, rather exhilarating than otherwise.' The 
Gray Norther, on the contrary, seems lo depress man and beast, 
mind and body; il is preceded by a deep sullen silence: 
not a cloud or ray of sunshine enlivens or variegates the skies. 
all is one deep, sombre gray; the cattle leave the plains and 
seek the shelter of the hollows ; cows, deer, horses, and even 
wolves, are sometimes seen huddled together. Suddenly the 
dead silence is broken by a distant rumbling noise which 
increases as the wind advances, until, like a. ila^li of lightning, 
it breaks with full force on the plain. 

Th; 1 sky i-; all our leaden gray, 
No shifting clouds across it play, 
No gleam of sunshine there appears, 
No rain falls clown like softening tears, 
No thunder mutters in the air, 
No quivering lightning flashes there. 
The earth's as changeless as the sky. 
The prairie doth all waveless lie. 
No sound the fearful silence breaks. 
No wind the feath'ry Mesquite shakes. 



THE GRAY NOIiTIIER. 53 

Its long dry pods of brownish red 

Hang by a single withered thread, 

But not a leaf comes rustling down. 

Though every shrub is sere and lu-own, 

Save where the Frejolillo* green 

Weaves round yon spring a sheltering screen. 

The prickly Cactus, long and round, 

Stands on each spot of barren ground, 

Or, like green serpents in the grass, 

Lurks prompt to wound us as we pass. 

All leafless stand the tall Pecans, f 

The dry GuizacheJ shows its thorns 

"Which hidden hieath its foliage lay, 

But reft of that, stand bare and gray. 

From tree to tree no birds now fly, 

All shivering in their nests they lie, 

While every creature frightened looks ; 

The cattle cower in sheltered nooks, 

And with them herd the timid deer, 

While both stand trembling — mute with fear ; 

Awe-stricken nature, hushed and still, 

Expectant seems of coming ill. 

Now o'er the prairie's broad expanse 

The cold Gray Norther doth advance, 

* Pronounced Frc-ho-lile-yo. 
t Pronounced Pccauns. 
; i'ronounced^We-satch-ee, 



54 MOSSES PROM A ROLLING STONE. 

On, on it comes, with sullen roar, 

Like waves upon a distant shore, 

It strikes the trees — they groan and shake. 

The dead leaves fall, the dry pods break, 

While surging waves across the grass 

In quick succession rise and pass. 

Tis thus with life — how gray it seems — 

No ray of sunshine o'er it gleams 

When summer friends have east their green. 

And bare and sharp its thorns are seen, 

Or lurking in our comforts lie, 

To wound us sharper, by and by. 

When withered hopes hang by a thread, 

Or day by day fall sere and dead ; 

And fancies, fluttering warm and bright 

Upon each branching thought to light, 

Lie hushed and still within the breast 

Like timid birds upon their nest. 

When Heaven itself is hid by clouds, 

And dark despair the spirit shrouds, 

As in the future, more and more 

We mark the coming Norther's roar. 

It strikes our hearts — they shrink and quake 

And from them wails of anguish break, 

As o'er the past we wildly weep, 

When surging waves of memory sweep 



THE OB AY KOBTHEB. 55 

Acroea the present, sere and dry 
As prairies 'neath a winter sky. 
But yet, the heart that seeks aright 
Will always find some green in sight, 
If life's cold Northers, wet or gray, 
Sweep not its sheltering faith away. 
Which rooted in eternal springs 
Around the soul its mantle flings. 



56 MOSSES FKOM A KOLLIKG STONE. 



THE WINE OF LIFE. 

k - Friendship is the wine of our lh e8.''— Dr. Young 

Yes, friendship is the wine of life 

That from the heart is pressed, 
And those for whom it freely flows, 

And only those are blessM. 
I would not give the cheering draughts, 

From many hearts I've won, 
For all the riches of the earth, 

Or jewels 'neath the sun. 
As different grapes yield different wines, 

So does my heart distil 
A different love from every friend, 

Its many wants to fill. 

When o'er my soul no shadow hangs, 

When all within is well, 
I long for sparkling, bright Champagne, 

Or calm, but pure Moselle. 
When doubts, like thorns, beset my path, 

When trials press me near, 
I need the strength Madeira gives, 

My troubled soul to clear. 



THE WINE OF LIFE, 57 

And when I droop 'neatli sickness' wing, 

When mind and body sink, 
Or sorrow's curtains round me fall, 

Of generous Port I'd drink. 

Some hearts there are that yield me all ; 

In whom I may confide 
For every wine that friendship hath, 

Whatever fate betide. 
Who give me strength when trials press, 

And hope in hours of pain, 
Or for my pleasure freely pour 

Moselle and bright Champagne. 
While others whom I truly love, 

Unyielding as the rock, 
Will disappoint my thirsty soul, 

Or give me bitter Hock. 

Then, as I tread life's winding path, 

I'll pluck from every vine 
The grapes that seem most like to yield 

My soul its spirit wine. 
Though some may fail to soothe or cheer, 

In others still Til trust, 
For I must love, although life's wine 

Is only poured en dust,- 
4 



58 MOSSES FBOM A ROLLING STONE. 

So shall niy heart, untouched by age. 
Believe in friendship's truth, 

And feel that time hath not the power 
To steal away its youth. 



MY SPIRIT IS CALLING TO THINE, 59 



MY SPIRIT IS CALLING TO THINE. 

I've been, since I left thee, -with friends, warm ant] 

true. 
And my spirit hath tasted affection's pure dew ; 
But yet, like the lily which droops for the sun, 
I've pined for thee sadly, my own darling one. 

As the gem hath no brightness when light is 

denied, 
So, dark is my soul if away from thy side; 
For thy love is the sunlight beneath whose bright 

ray 
The sparkles of feeling most brilliantly play. 

And now that the wave of affection doth meet 
"With the barrier of absence, it casts at thy feet 
The treasures it brings from the depths of my 

heart, 
And, ''spray-like," doth into "bright utterance" 

start. 

I know that my portrait still hangs in thy soul. 
The sweet notes of mem'ry across it still roll. 



GO MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STOKE. 

Like the perfume that lingers when the roses are 

crushed, 
The echo of song, when the music is hushed. 

I feel that my image time cannot efface — 
Yet I fear that another may sit in my place, 
That my seat by thy hearth, where affection doth 

burn. 
May not always be vacant until I return. 

But I will not believe it, the spirit doth keep 
Its vigil by night, when the sense is aslee]) ; 
And then on the pinions of love I will flee, 
For strength and for comfort, my darling, to thee. 

Say, comes there not unto thee moments of bliss, 
When the Past and the Future seem stooping to 

kiss ; 
When Mem'ry is holding the torch-light of Hope, 
And time-withered pleasures beneath it rc-ope \ 

When all that was sad in its glow disappears, 
And pleasure, long hoped for, so vividly nears. 
That the present is lost in the light that is cast, 
By mem'ry and hope o'er the future and past ? 



itl SPIRIT IS CALLING TO THINE. 01 

Then, then, when these mingled rays oyer thee 

shine, 
Oh, think that my spirit is calling to thine; 
And let thy soft answer come back on my ear 
So thrilling!}* sweet, that, though sleeping. I'll 

hear. 



02 MOPRES FROM A ROLLTNG STONE. 



TOO LATE. 

••And here again was the Bcarlet misery glittering on the old 
ppot ! So it ever is, whethether typified or no, that an evil 
deed invests itself with the character ol doom."— Hawthorn. 

I hear it forever ! It sounds in my ear 

Like the sigh of the Pine when the wind-cloud is 

near, 
Or the moan of the ocean that sobs on the shore, 
When wailing the wrath of the storm that is o'er 

As the ghost of the miser, in slumber unblest, 
Haunts ever the spot where its treasure doth rest ; 
Sad mem'ry returns unto days that have fled. 
And the "deadpast" seeks vainly to "bury its dead." 

No hope hath my soul this refrain shall cease, 
Time doth not assuage — Death will not release. 
More sad than the raging of passion or hate 
Is the voice of despair, when it whispers c> toolate!" 



Too late to amend — too late to atone, 

'Tis grief unavailing that's left me alone. 

For the red stain of sin, though we steep it in tears 

Like a scar on the soul, through life re-appears. 



TOO LATE. 68 

The head of the mountain, though hoary with 

snow, 
Cools not the fierce fire that rages below ; 
And if the hot lava has rolled down its side, 
Kind nature seeks vainly the traces to hide^ 

Oh, Faith, canst thou whisper no comfort to 

those 
Whose hearts, like the Geyser, boil e'en in repose ? 
Untamed by misfortune, unsated with sin, 
Yet longing for peace and comfort within. 

Still paving the road which leads unto death, 
With good resolutions that melt with a breath- 
Still hoping 'gainst hope that they backward have 

prest 
The fiery passions that boil in each breast, 

That belief is triumphant, and banished each doubt, 
The Geyser extinct— the volcano burnt out — 
Till despair lowly whispers, "This, this is thy fate, 
To yield to the stream, and lament when too late-^ 



04 MOSSED FROM A ROLLING STONE. 



THE FALLEN IDOL: 

I'll rend not tlic veil of my spirit £tpart : 
The silence of midnight shall circle my heart ; 
None, none shall suspect there is deep in its core 
The beak of the Raven, who croaks " Neverpiore.' 1 

I'll show not to any the skeleton guest^ 

That unbidden is making its home in my breast ; 
Like the Spa?rtah, the wolf in my bosom I'll hide. 
And cover my wound with the mantle Of Pride. 

Oh, have you ne'er watched the cold ashen gray. 
That steals o'er a cloud, as the sun fades away \ 
His light gave the beauty it seemed to enfold ; 
And with it departed the crimson and gold. 

'Tis thus with the idol my bosom enshrined — 
Green, green were the tendrils around it entwined ; 
Now, the image is shattered, and with it my trust ; 
And the vine of affection is withering in dust. 

But I'll gather the fragments and raise it again ; 
The world shall not know that my worship was 
vain. 



THE FALLEN IDOL. <>•> 

Pride, prid.* shall spring nj> where affection once 
bloomed, 

And watch o'er the spot where my love is en- 
tombed. 

Though changed is the priestess who knelt and 

adored, 
The shrine shall be decked, and the idol restored. 
If love could fling o'er it the sunset's bright glow. 
Pride, pride shall preserve it unsullied as snow. 

Now Duty shall see that each rite is observed, 
As though Love at the altar still joyously served ; 
And dressed in the robes that Affection once wore. 
Shall fling clown an oflering as rich as before. 

If the garland is scentless ike priestess alone 
Will miss the sweet fragrance that o'er it was 

thrown ; 
For the incense of Pride, as it rolls through the air, 
Shall hide from the world that Love is not there. 



06 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STOKE. 



GATHERING SHELLS. 

Wandering on the shores of mern'ry, 

Gathering up the fragments, cast 
By the surging waves of feeling 

From the ocean of the past. 
Here a shell and there a pebble, 

With its edges worn away 
By the rolling of the waters, 

By the dashing of the spray. 

Some lie smooth and many tinted 

High upon the glistening sand, 
Others, sharp and freshly scattered, 

Wound when taken in the hand. 
Here a Wreck of by-gone treasures, 

Garnered in our early years, 
Gathered now in hidden caverns 

Crusted with the salt of tears. 

Every hope and every sorrow 

That the heart hath ever known — 

Vessels launched in youth's bright hour. 
On the shadowy beach are thrown ; 



FATHERING SHELLS. 6$ 

Here are pleasure-boats that glided 

O'er smooth waters for a while. 
There, rich argosies of feeling 

Freighted with a tear or smile. 

Joy that vanished e'er 'twas tasted, 

Is but sea-weed wet with spray : 
Eagerly we seek to grasp it — 

Lo, its beauties fade away ; 
Floating in the brilliant future 

It was dipped in rainbow-dyes, 
But upon the sands of inem'ry 

Now in tangled masses lies. 

Here are wrecks of early friendships, 

Living only in the past, 
Vessels which were far too fragile 

To withstand life's cutting blast. 
By them nobler barks are lying, 

Barks that weathered every gale ; — 
Till on death their life-boats shattered — 

These were never known to fail; 

Round about are fragments lying 
Of the cargoes which they bore ; 

And on each these words are graven : 
" Friend, we've only gone before.'' 



68 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 

Oil, it gives both pain and pleasure 
To reflect that when we die, 

Shattered on the sands of mcni'iy 
Thus in loving hearts we lie. 



SIGHT BLOOMING FLOWERS, 09 



NIGHT BLOOMING FLOWERS. 

My heart lias leaves it does not opu to every ga- 
zer's view ; 
My happy thoughts I give to ail, my sad ones to 

but lev,-. 
My soul must drink " the wine of life " which 

openeth wide the heart, 
Its inner petals to unfold, its fragrance to impart. 
Nor is it every one I love, who holds its magic 

key : 
The heart owns many a chosen friend to whom the 

soul's not free ; 
For often those we dearest love will fail to read 

aright 
Those workings of the " inner man " of which they 

catch a sight. 
Such feelings are not told in words, but spoken by 

the eye, 
Or by that heaving of the breast that scarcely seems 

a sigh ; 
The trembling of the voice alone may tell of 

blessings fled ; 
The " heart dew" gathering in the eye, of bitter 
tears unshed. 



70 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 

They lie like hidden fragrance in th^sweet night' 

blooming flowers, 
Which pale and scentless 'neath the sun exhale in 

evening hours 
A. subtle essence, rich and rare, which amply doth 

repay 
For want of beauty and perfume throughout the 

busy day. 
SSo sympathy's refreshing dew must steal into our 

hearts, 
Those inner petals to unfold, from whence their 

fragrance start*. 



SHADOWS. 71 



.SHADOWS. 

There are moments of sadness in life. 

When silently over me fall 
Forebodings of sorrow and strife — 

Dim shadows far-reaching and tall. 

Are they warnings of trouble before, 
Thus vaguely and faintly defined, 

Or hauntings of that which is o'er. 
Yet leaveth its shadow behind } 

Why hath not the feeling a name ! 

In tear-drops it seeketh relief. 
But oh, it is never the same 

As sadness that cometh with grief. 

It is not that darkness abiding. 
When the spirit in battle must eope 

With a sorrow, whose banner is hiding 
The star-light that shineth from hope ; 

When the heart its own bitterness knows. 
But keepeth it secret from all. 

Though the torrent of feeling overflows. 
And tears of hot anguish will fall. 



72 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 

Does it come like a bugle-note citing 
The spirit to arm for a fight — ■ 

The gray clasp of twilight uniting 

Joy's sunshine with sorrow's dark night? 

Or is it a solemn-toned chant, 
And not the vague warnings of grief — 

The dew that's distilled on the plant — 
Not the frost that discolors the leafS 

I know not, but fain would believe, 

The feeling betokens no ill, 
But comes the full heart to relieve, 

And bid the flushed spirit be still. 

And when on my pathway it falls 
The warning shall not be in vain, 

But the voice of an angel that calls 
My soul to its duties again. 



PITTEK WATERS. 78 



BITTER WATERS. 

The waters in life's goblet sink, 
That late were foaming to its brink 

With happiness aglow, 
From every bubble flashing bright 
The sparkling opalescent light. 

That only it can show. 

Thoughts, feelings, passions, hopes and fears 
Of present, past, and coming years, 

The very heart-blood of my soul. 
Flowed once a bold continuous stream, 
Into whose changing rainbow gleam 

I dipped " life's golden bowl." 

Not slowly did the waters creep. 
But bounded on with vig'rous leap 

O'er cares which clogged the way ; 
With every struggle gaining strength, 
Until the rocks o'erleaped at length 

In limpid pools they lay. 

Now sinking, sinking every hour 
'Neath care and sorrow T 's carking power 
(P) 



74 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 

They daily run to waste. 
No bubbles now upon them rise, 
They glitter' not with rainbow dyes. 

And bitter is their taste. 

So bitter, that the unwelcome draught 
My thirsty spirit will not quaff, 

And scarcely is restrained 
From dashing from my fevered lip 
The stagnant dregs, I yet must si]; 

Before the goblet 'a drained. 

But in the waters dark I see 
Reflected faces turned to me ; 

And when of them I think. 
I crush despondent thoughts like these. 
Resolving to its bitter lees 

Life's goblet I will drink. 

Nor has its beauty wholly tied — 
Submissively I bow my head. 

And murmuring thoughts restrain ; 
For while each well beloved face 
In life's dark waters I can trace. 

Thev do not flk>w in va.in A 



"THE HOME OF MY BOYHOOD. 



"THE HOME OF MY BOYHOOD." 

" The home of my boyhood, my own country home. 

I love it, I love it. wherever I roam."' 

Though long sinee my foot its dear threshold has 

prest, 
'Neath the roof of the homestead in spirit I rest: 
While mem'ry recalls all its beauties to me. 
And tints with its pencil the picture I see. 

There stands the old barn where in childhood I 

played, 
The forest where oft with my brothers I strayed ; 
There lies the ^reen meadow, where on the fresh 

hay 
The long days of summer passed swiftly away : 
There babbles the brook, as refreshing and cool 
As when on its borders I loitered from school. 

There wave the old oaks, iu the depths of whose 

shade 
The graves of my father and mother are made ; 
But vain is the effort to think of them there — 
My dear, gentle mother is in her arm chair : 
While hearty and hale, in the autumn of life, 
My father is sitting beside " the auld, wife," 



76 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 

Time softens the pieture I look upon now, 

And lightly his snow-flakes have powdered each 

brow : 
While round the old hearth-stone my brothers all 

stand. 
E'er death on the fairest had laid his cold hand. 
One sister I see, through the vista of years, 
But the glass of my memory is dark'ning with 

tears. 

In the evening of life these scenes of my youth 
Come back in my mem'ry with freshness and 

truth ; 
As stars of the morning, though hid by the sun. 
Will shine when the toil of day-time is done : 
Then, I looked to the future for comfort and cheer, 
Now, hope has departed, but mem'ry is dear. 

All, all have gone from me, the fair and the brave. 
And lonely I stand on the brink of the grave, 
Where the wife of my bosom, her babe on her 

breast, 
And brothers and sister have gone to their rest 
Not one in the homestead my coining would greet 
Of those who were wont round its hearth-stone to 

meet, 



" THE HOME OF MY BOYHOOD, i i 

One only desire still lives in my heart, 

To see that old homestead before I depart. 

To stand by the grave where my mother is laid, 

And point out the spot where my own shall be 

made ; 
Then in the old house, where I first drew my breath. 
3it quietly down till the coming of death, 



TS MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 



• CHE SARA SARA."*- 

I hold, the man with purpose high. 

With firm resolve and still. 
Hath in himself his destiny 

And moulds his fate at will. 
Be ever what you seem to be, 

Fear not what man can do, 
In every fortune firmly stand. 

And to yourself be true. 
Walk calm and proud nor fear the ills 

The future hides from sight. 
But bravely meet them when they come. 

And battle for the right. 
In good or ill be faithful still. 

Seek your reward on high, 
Let " Deo, non Fortuna " be 

Through life your battle cry. 
Strong in this faith your soul shall not 

Unto misfortune yield, 
Nor bring the courage of despair 

Alone into the field. 

* What vrill be. i?Ul be, 



so5?e. 79 



SONG. 

{Front the (xenno.n,) 

As sunshine streaks with pink the moss 
Which hides the blushing rose, 

Love gently parts the modest veil 
That youth o'er beauty throws. 

But if the heavens are hung with clouds. 

The bud cannot unfold. 
And bursting sheds the cankered sweets 

It can no longer hold. 

So youthful hearts which pine for love 

To melt their modest pride. 
May burst beneath their wealth of life, 

If it is long denied. 



80 MOSftES FROM A ROLLING STOXK. 



WHEN DOST THOU THINK OF ME * 

When dost thou think of me ? 

At the soft dawn, 
When the day breaketh 

As love is born. 
When the sun's banner? 

Are slowly unfurled 
Till its gay streamers 

Float oYr the world I 

When dost thou think of me ( 

When the south breeze 
Whispers its love note* 

Unto the trees, 
Rippling the ocean. 

As thou dost glide 
Over its bosom 

At the noon-tide ? 

\f hen dost thou think of me r 

Through the long day 
Bigheth thy spirit 

That I'm away? 



WHEK DOST THOU THINK OF MET $1 

Could I but conic to ttn» 

Over the sea, 
(tladly thou knowest 

I VI nestle by thee. 

When dost thou think of me ? 

In the still night, 
When on the water? 

Sleeps the moonlight, 
Of 'neath the Palm tie? 

Quiveringly lie? 
Am the soft sea breeze 

Over it sighs ? 

When do I think of thee ? 

Ever — forever— 
Thou from my niem'ry 

Absent art never ; 
Morning and evening, 

Noon-tide and night 
Standeth thy image 

Ever in 0ur&> 



82 MOSSES FEOM A BOLLING STOSE. 



WOMAN'S DOWER. 

Oh, this is woman's richest dower. 

In weakness lies her strength. 
By yielding she may win to power. 

And reign a queen at length. 
If by a word, a look, or smile 

She prompts to noble deeds, 
Man gently led, goes on the while. 

Believing that he lends. 

Sweet is her music, if with art — 

With nature's art she'll play — 
And chords will vibrate in the heart 

Which scorns her open sway. 
The frost of pride, which round it clinj 

Her gentle skill can melt, 
If, like the breath of early spring. 

Her love— unseen — is felt. 



FAREWELL. 88 



FAREWELL. 

Oh come, a tarewell let us say ; 

Be quick, or the moments will fly : 
And on their swift wings bear away 

The friends we are bidding good-bye. 
Though over our heads may roll years. 

Ere again together we stand ; 
Add not to the sorrow by tears. 

But give them a shake of the hand. 

Cloud not the last hour of parting 

By looks that are gloomy the while. 
But bid the dear friends who are starting. 

Adieu, with a bright cheerful smile. 
For they through the thin veil of gladness 

Full well our sorrow can trace, 
And know in the heart there is sadness. 

Although there's a smile on the face. 

Though perchance the broad ocean divide, 

We still are united forever, 
By the knot which our friendship has tied — 

A bond which no parting can aever. 



M MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STOXF. 

Then, while our farewells are spoken. 

We'll hide in our bosoms the pain. 
And deem our sorrow a token 

Of joy in meeting again. 



FOKGET THEE 



FORGET TREE '. 
(From the German.) 

Forget thee \ forget thee i oh never — no never ! 

The love I have given I'll cherish forever ; 

Thy image on high in my bosom 'a enshrined, 

And sweet are the mem'ries around it entwined. 

Bright, bright is the passion which thou dost in- 
spire, 

When with thee its flame burnetii higher and 
higher ; 

For my spirit shakes from it the dust of the world, 

When the pinion of love in ixy bosom 's unfurled. 

Thou 'st looked on the innermost depths of my soul. 

When thoughts were uprising I could not control. 

And beneath the warm glance of thy clear-seeing 
eye. 

Pride's withering whirlwind swept harmlessly by. 

For I knew that my thoughts unto thee were re- 
vealed — 

That thou didst read the deep secret from others 
concealed ; * 

And I tremblingly felt that my treasure was shown. 

Mv strength and mv weakness no longer unknown. 



86 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 

Remember ? AU yes ! for I cannot forget. 
Bright, bright are the jewels in memory set ; 
They are thoughts of an hour remembered by thee — 
An hour of moonlight beneath an old tree — 
When thy spirit unwillingly bent to my sway. 
And, though still resisting, could not disobey ; 
Twice, twice hast thou lifted the veil from my soul. 
But once thy proud spirit bowed 'neath my control. 



SMILES AND KISSES. 



SMILES AND KISSES. 

Two exquisite jewels of feeling 

Arc set in my circle of love, 
Bright glimpses of Heaven, revealing 

The joy of spirits above. 
Twas friendship shone first in the. ring 

A smile is the emblem of this. 
Yet my heart owns a holier thing, 

And shadows it forth with a kiss. 

Whenever my spirit is weary, 

And longing for rest from its strife, 
When all of my futuie seems dreary, 

And dark is the pathway of life — 
If friendship will smile it can cheer. 

As feebly I struggle along ; 
But a kiss from the lips that are dear 

Will render me ten times as strong. 

Life's duties it changes to pleasure, 
Its trials can bravely be met. ; 

For my heart in itself has a treasure. 
Since love 'mid its jewels was set. 



88 MOSSES FROM A HOLLISO STONE. 

My pathway is dotted with flowers. 

That seem at each step to unclose. 
For Love lends his wings to the hours. 

And tints them with coUur de Rw. 

Though friendship 's a heavenly feeling. 

A breath from the angels above, 
Which over the spirit comes stealing, 

It wakes not its deep notes like love ; 
For love is a fearful emotion 

That stirs all the depths of the soul, 
As the waters of mighty old ocean 

Are swayed by the moonlight's control. 

And if ever to mortals is given 

A feeling approaching the bliss 
Which spirits enjoy in heaven. 

Tis felt in the thrill of a kiss. 
A smile may be given to many. 

Tis only of friendship a part. 
But I give not a kiss unto any 

Who has not tbe love of mv heart. 



TWILIGHT MUSING*. 89 



TWILIGHT MUSINGS. 

I love the quiet twilight hour — 

Its dim aud fading light ; 
I love to watch the closing day 

Embrace the silent night. 
His golden beam has disappeared. 

Her reign has not begun, 
When like a holy nuptial ring 

The twilight makes them one. 

To me it ever seems to be 

A resting place in life, 
A quiet, happy, household hour 

With pure affection rife ; 
When menrry from the shadowy past 

Her priceless treasure brings, 
Or o'er the future sunny hope 

Her soft'ning radiance flings. 

I love to draw the curtains close, 

And by the fitful blaze 
To sit and dream of absent friend*. 

Or muse on by-gone days. 

m 



HOBSES PROM A ROLLING STOKE. 

Yet as I muse I listen too, 

To catch the opening gate. 
That I may meet him at the door 

For whose dear step I wait. 

As at the fall of eventide 

The worn and weary dove 
Bore to the lonely wave-tossed ark 

The olive-branch of love — 
So he, who all day long has toiled 

For wife and children dear, 
Turns to the sacred ark of home, 

When twilight dra^weth near. 

And while he braves the many cares 

That crest the waves of life, 
I'll strive to make our own fireside 

A haven from their strife. 
Full well he knows that peace and love 

Are nestling in our home, 
That here he'll find the olive branch— 

For that he does not roam. 

He seeks to gather from the world 

The Bay and Laurel now, 
That with the Olive he may twine 

A garland for my brow : 



TWILIGHT MUSINGS. 91 

But what, compared with peace and love, 
Are honors, w r ealth, and fame \ 

Oh, if with these my brow is crowned, 
The rest is but a name. 

And from my proud, yet thankful heart 

There comes an earnest prayer, 
That I may ever worthy prove 

This priceless wreath to wear ; 
It riseth from life's flood of cares 

The first green thing on earth ; 
And none but those who 've felt its want 

Can ever know its worth. 

Then mem'ry gently waves her wing. 

And from the distant past. 
She sweeps the shadowy clouds away 

That time has o'er it cast. 
Friends, who are scattered far and wide, 

Are gath'ring round me* now, 
I feel them gently press my hand, 

Or lightly kiss my brow. 

As summer winds draw music wild 

From soft iEolean strings, 
So, all unbidden are the thoughts 

Which to my heart she brings ; 



MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 

Drawn gently from its quivering chords 
Upon the breeze there floats 

The sweetest music of my life. 
And then its wildest notes. 

Again 1 am a little child. 

Light-hearted and content. 
Whose happy spirit runneth o'er 

With joyous merriment ; 
Anon, a maiden young I stand 

" Where brook and river meet :'* 
And now the notes grow stern and wild. 

Then soft, and low. and sweet . 

Such are the thoughts which ever haunt 

My quiet twilight hour. 
When hope and memory, hand in hand. 

Exert their magic power. 
Then do you wonder that J love 

To sit and dream awaj 
This little link that joins the night 

To busy, bustling day '. 



my children: Ja 



MY CHILDREN. 



T have two little darlings 

With eyes of deepest blue, 
There's just a year between them. 

And the younger is not two. 
Like fragrant little blossoms, 

Whose petals daily ope, 
I watch their minds expanding. 

With fond and earnest hope. 

Frank says he's mother's rose-bud ; 

And little brother Willie, 
With skin like alabaster, 

Is my budding water-lilly. 
i eall them both my mock-birds, 

For like music to my ear. 
Are their merry little voices. 

So silvery and clear. 

What dew is to the flowers. 

The rainbow to the sky. 
Are. these darlings to my pathway, 

Which they cheer and beautify. 



04 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE, 

They fill my heart with gladness. 

With thankfulness and praise, 
They chase away my sadness, 

And leave no gloomy days. 

Though many other blessings 

Around my footsteps fall, 
My children and their father 

Are brightest of them all. 
My life seems crowned with joys 

Whene'er I look on them, 
And they the brightest jewels 

Within the diadem. 

Then blessings on my darlings- 
Bright blessings from above — 

C-tod grant their tender boyhood 
Miss not a mothers love. 

Oh may my days be lengthened 
Throughout their early youth. 

To lead them irt the pathway 
Of honor and of 1 truth. 

Uod grant to me His spirit 
To guide their souls aright. 

To teach them by example 
To walk u as in his sight." 



MY CHILDREN. ^ 



And when this life is ended. 
May all whom He has given 

Cnited, form a family 

Within the courts of heaven. 



% M0S*E3 FEOM A ROLLING STOKE. 



THE RAIN UPON THE HILLS. 

Though 'tis raining on the hills, love. 

Tis raining on the hills, 
Not the shadow of a cloud, love. 

The smiling valley fills. 
See how the sunlight falls, love. 

As though it loved to rest 
Upon that youthful mother, love, 

Her first-born on her breast. 

She cares not for the world, love. 

Its pleasures or its wealth, 
She thinks but of her child, love. 

His happiness and health. 
Life's sorrows arc to her. love. 

But rain upon the hills, 
T^hile the sunlight of that babe, love, 

ller happy bosom fills. 

But see, the cloud rolls on, love. 

Tis deep'ning all the while : 
And the sunlight from the vale, love, 

Is fading like a smile ; 



TtiK RAT* VWS THE JJTLL*. 

Is fading like the smile, love, 

That's followed by despair. 
When the idols of the heart, love. 

Are vanishing in air. 

The frightened mother starts, love. 

And clasps her baby now : 
For she seeth that a shade, love. 

Is gath'ring o'er his brow. 
She is weeping o'er her child, love ; 

'Tis raining in the vale — 
Life struggleth now with death, love. 

Clod grant he may prevail. 

The cloud has passed away, love, 

The sun is shining bright ; 
And that mothers trembling heart, Jove. 

Rejoiceth in the light- 
But the mem'ry of that storm, Jove, 

Her bosom ever fills, 
And she feareth for the vale, love, 

When 'tis rainirig cm the hills. 



98 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 



THE MOTHERS DREAM. 

Twas night, and on her couch a weary mother lay, 
Weary with petty cares that wore her strength 

away : 
Sadly she called to mind the aspirations high. 
Born in her soul, and mourned that they unfledged 

must die. 
Each morn she rose resolving ere she slept to feed 
The intellectual longings, and the craving need 
For mental food, which called as loudly in her 

breast 
For sustenance, as hungry birds within a nest. 
Sadly she felt they called in vain, that day by day- 
All unimproved time's golden sand was slipping 

fast away. 
What should she do { She could not feed both 

heart and mind ; 
While one pressed forward must the other lag be- 
hind ? 
Daily she strove each pressing duty to fulfill, 
But every evening found some unaccomplished 

still. 
If all her petty household earev; were duly wrought. 



Tire mother^ dream. 99 

Ber children's bodies eared for, could their mind- 
be taught ': 
H Wrapped in a napkin" must her talent useless lie, 
Must she not render some account of it on high I 
Or was '* what shall we eat and drink and whore- 
wit hall 
Be clothed," upon her ear forevermore to fall. 
Excluding all that cheerful music clear and sweet 
That from her heart-strings once had freely gushed 

to meet 
Responsive notes from one fond heart, which o'er 

her hung 
So proudly glorying in each gladsome strain *be 

sung. 
Now in her darkenened soul was only care and 

strife, 
Conflicting duties wore, away her strength and life. 
Oh ! should she not at once select the " better part " 
Preys' forward with a Mary's, not a Martha's, heart i 
Or must the mother's instinct conquer in the fight. 
And for.&Z'mess o£ pottage " sell the soul's birth- 

rig'ni '. - 
She could not solve the question, and with think- 
ing worn. 
Upon the wings of sleep her soul was upward borne 
Beyond the clouds, towards heaven's ethereal sky ; 



100 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE; 

And looking backwards saw a rocky mountain 

high. 
Rise from the green enameled earth below, 
Its towering peak wrapped in n shining robe of 

snow ; 
Up its steep side a feeble woman slowly crept, 
Against her throbbing heart a tiny infant slept ; 
Three other children fair and bright around her 

played. 
And by their lingering steps her earnest zeal de- 
layed. 
Now, o'er a stone one by the wayside tripped and 

fell, 
And she must pause to " kiss the place and make 

it well;" 
By briers torn, another calls on her to stay. 
And now her eldest hoy is wandering from the 

way. 
She binds the wound and gently calls the truant 

back. 
Leading his wavering steps a while along the 

track, 
^ndly she grieves she cannot press more quickly 

on, 
-Ere duty's hill is scaled life's brightness will be 

gone.*' 



THE MOTHElt'H DKEAM. 101 

Slic sighing said, and on the dark side looked 

alone. 
Xor raised her eyes to where xlu- ligjit of love still 

shone 

With brighter radiance on the rugged mountain's 

snow. 
Than in the smooth and softly verdant plain below. 
ihe did not see that while she paused each grief to 

soothe. 
Uid strove life's pathway for those little feet to 

smooth, 
low many a stumbling block in her own doubtful 

way. 
.ike blessed angels, they unknowing roiled awav ; 
low oft their childish arms delaying round her 

clung, 
Vken o'er a precipice her hasty footsteps hung ; 
nd when for them she strove the thorny path to 

clear. 
:new not that danger to herself was lurking near ; 
hat her own wavering faith grew stronger, bright- 
er still, 
s their young souls with holy truths she sought 

to fill ; 
nd when she stopped for them the wayside flow- 
ers to twine, 



102 MOSSKS PltOM A KOLLINO BTOJsE. 

Thought not that they in menvry's garland blight 

would shine, 
To guide their steps through life along the narrow 

way, 
Or gently draw them back if they should go astray. 
But in her dream the weary mother sleeping still. 
Saw these were helps, not clogs, in climbing duty's* 

hill ; 
And waking hid the lesson deep within her heart. 
Resolving up that hill next morn afresh to start, 
Unmurmuring at the petty round she daily trod, 
But doing what came first, and leaving all to God. 



NEMO SEMPEH FELIX E8T. ,, 108 



•• NEMO SEMPER FELIX EST." 

Oh there are moments when my soul 

From earthly scenes would soar away. 
To wander, free from all control. 

Beneath the light of fancy's ray. 
Often when this spell is o'er me 

Till my heart with joy ? s opprest. 
Kiseth up this thought before me : 

" Nemo semper felix eat" 

Slowly then my wandering mind 

Yields to reason's sterner sway. 
Leaveth fancy's joys to find 

Peace in duty's rugged way. 
Calmer thoughts will soon succeed. 

And my troubled soul find rest, 
What though its wounds a while may bleed- 

11 Nemo semper felix est." 

Yet will murmuring thoughts arise, 

When bright fancy I restrain, 
Duty calls me from the skies, 

Pleasure leads me back again, 



104 uomm from a rolling stone. 

And thero's many a bitter hour 
When I murmur all unblest, 

When these words will lose their power 
" Nemo semper felix est" 

Thus there is forever strife 

'Twixt my conscience and my will ; 
And through all my coining life, 

Oh, may conscience triumph still ; 
Fain and pleasure both shall reign.. 

Yet my soul shall calmly rest. 
Thinking, when overcome with pain, 

"Nemo semper felix erf.'" 



I AM THAT I AM. 105 



I AM THAT I AM. 



"I am that i am," Jehovah replied, 
When lie shone before Moses, on Horeb's steep side. 
And the awe-stricken prophet demanded a name 
For the God of his fathers, who spake from the 

name. 
" Before Abrain was," saith the Saviour ■' I AM, M 
The son of the Father, the true Paschal Land), 
The Lion of Jn.dah, the bright Prince of Peace, 
The star ,of the morning, whose light shall not 

cease. 

How full is the comfort the sentence conveys, 

Jehovah Almighty, thou ancient of dn , 

For it tells* that thy mercy is boundless as fret' 

To those who will cast every burden on Thee. 

In sickness it sayeth. k " fear not, I am health," 

I am comfort in sorrow, in poverty, wealth; 

I am strength to the weak, to fie erring a guide; 

A rock where the fearful in safety may hid'. 1 . 

I am joy in sadness, in death I am life, 
I am peace to the soul that with sin is :it strife \ 
(?) 



106 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 

I am hope in despair, when the spirit would shrink, 
And cries to its Saviour, "help, Lord, or I sink." 
To the weary am rest, to the feeble am power, 
A shield to my people, their safeguard and tower. 
Their doubts and their fears I only can calm, 
For the need of the moment "I AM that I AM." 



TTTE POT OF INCENSE. 10? 



THE POT OF INCENSE 

• Is an emblem of a pure heart, which is always an accepta- 
ble sacrifice to the Deity ; and as this glows with fervent heat, 
*o should our hearts continually glow with gratitude to the 
great and beneficent author of our existence, for the manifold 
blessings and comforts we enjoy."— Masonic Chart, 

Sec the pot of incense glowing 

With a pure and fervent heat, 
Wreaths of perfume upward throwing 

Towards the golden mercy seat. 
Where, with clouds His glory hiding, 

Israel's God descending came^ 
Tween the cherubim abiding 

Day and night in smoke or flame. 

So may I with grateful spirit, 

Ever own with perfect love, 
Blessings which I do not merit 

From the mercy seat above. 
Like this pure, sweet-scented savor 

May my prayers ascend on high, 
And my sacrifice find favor 

In the clear all seeing eyf; 



108 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 



DAY BREAK. 

The daj has broke —its soft grey light 

Is through the window streaming, 
And froin the darkness of the night 

The morning star is gleaming ; 
The tailing night-lamp flickers low, 

Its light's no longer needed, 
.And as the eastern portals glow. 

It dies away unheeded. 

Now, all without is bright and fair. 

Instinct with life and hope, 
Within — ah ! eyes are slumbering there 

That ne'er on earth, shall ope. 
All pale and cold before me lies 

The mother and the wife. 
Who on my bosom closed her eve-. 

And faded out of life. 

So calmly did she cease to breathe. 

So gently took her flight, 
I scarce conld tell when closing eve 

Had deepened into night. 



DAY BREAK. 109 

And ever since, around her bed 

I've solemn'vigil kept, 
And silently have hushed my tread. 

As though she only slept. 

She does not sleep, in realms above 

Her soul is wide awake. 
And now the day of perfect love 

Begins for her to break. 
All ! does iflikc the dawn below 

Steal gently o'er her soul. 
Sees she at first the opening glow. 

And then, the glorious whole '. 

Say, does tlu- song of glory burst 

At once upon her ear, 
Or does her trembling spirit first 

Low notes of welcome hear \ 
I love to think that strength with light 

Is to the spirit given. 
Death's but the closing of the night. 

The perfect day 's in heaven. 



110 MOSSES FBOK AHOLLING HTOKE. 



THE FUNERAL OF HENRY CLAY. 

While the funeral services were being performed over the 
remains of Henry Clay, there came up a sudden shower, and, 
as the cloud was low, the vibration of the air caused the drop* 
of rain to fall more quickly at each discharge of the minute 
gnus. 

Toll on, ye mournful bells, toll on — 

A mighty spirit's fled ; 
E'en heaven itself is weeping o'er 

The statesman lying dead. 
Boom on, boom on, ye minute guns. 

And through the sounding air 
Up to his noble soul's abode 

A nation's sorrow bear. 

The eagle of our land, whose wings 

Spread o'er each ocean's spray 
Lost from her grasp a noble dart, 

When death demanded Clay. 
He to the stars and stripes belonged, 

No State can claim his name, 
The champion of our common flag, 

He gained his world-wide fame. 



THE FUNERAL OF HENRY CLAY. Ill 

No blood-stained laurels bound his brow ; 

He caused no tears to flow, 
His was the mighty strife of mind 

Against his country's foe. 
He never trimmed his noble barque 

To catch the breeze of State, 
lie scorned to watch its shifting vane, 

Or for its sanction wait. 

His voice full oft has stilled the strife, 

Which in his country rose, 
And made the children of one land 

To deem their brethren foes. 
Like Roman Curtius, when the gulf 

Yawned in the forum wide, 
He flung himself into the breach. 

And calmed, the angry tide. 

His eagle eye saw at a glance 

What way to lienor led— 
His mighty spirit nevor shrank 

The patriot's path to tread. 
Toll on, ye mournful bells, toll on — ■ 

Your sad funereal knell 
Makes every ardent freeman's breast 



112 MOSSES FIIOM A ROLLING STONE. 

We glory in the mighty mind 

That flashed like lightning's play, 
And both Americas shall mourn 

The loss of Henby Clay. 
Boom on, boom on, ye minute guns, 

As each discharge is given, 
A shower of sympathetic tears 

Falls from the arch of heaven. 



ANNIE CARTER LEE. 115 



ANNIE CARTER LEE. 

11 Died, at Jones' Springs, Warren County, K. C, Oct. 20th, 
1862, AnnieCarter Lee, daughter of Gen. Robert E. Lee, C. 
8. A." 

•• Earth to earth, and dusi to dust,' 1 

Saviour in thy word we trust, 

Sow we now our precious grain, 

Thou shalt raise it up again. 

Plant we the terrestrial root 

Which shall bear celestial fruit, 

Lay a bud within the tomb 

That a flower in Heaven may bloom. 

Severed are n<> tender tics. 

Though in Death's embrace she lies. 

For the lengthened chain of love 

Stretches to her home above. 

Mother, in thy bitter grief 

Let this thought bring sweet relict* — 

(Mother of an angel now.) 

God Himself hath crowned thy brow 

With the thorns the Saviour wore ; 

Blessed art thou evermore ! 

Unto Him thou doit resign 



U4 ICOB6B8 FROM A ROLLING STONE. 

A portion of the lite was thine. 
" Earth to earth, and dust to dust,' 1 
Sore the trial, sweet the trust. 
Father — thou who seest Death 
Heaping grain at every breath. 
As his sickle sharp he wields 
O'er our bloody battle fields — 
Murmur not that now he weaves 
This sweet flower into his sheaves. 
Taken in her early prime, 
Gathered in the summer time, 
Autumn's blast she shall not know. 
Never shrink from winter's snow. 
Sharp the pang which thou must feel, 
Sharper than the foeman's steel ; 
For thy fairest flower is hid 
Underneath the coffin's lid. 
O'er her grave thou drop'st no tear, 
Warrior stern must thou appear, 
Crushing back the tide of grief 
Which in vain demands relief. 
Louder still thy country cries, 
At thy feet it bleeding lies, 
And before the patriot now 
Husband — Father — both must bow. 
But unnumbered are thy friends, 



AJHSTIE CABTEER LEE. 115 

And from many a home ascends 
Earnest, heartfelt prayers for thee, 
"That as thy days thy strength may be." 



116 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STOKE. 



AN EPITHANATON, 

Genera] Leonidas Polk, C. S. A., killed <>n Pino Mountain 
Juno 11th. 1864. 

" The tear-drops of Borrow may form a rainbow of glory 
above the grief-stricken head." 



Again our God hath set His bow, 

For o'er the flood of bitter strife 

There shines another hero's life; 

A hero's life and death, to tell, 

God loves the cause for which he fell ; 

For though our tears fall down like rain 

We cannot feel he died in vain. 

Baptized by God Himself with flame, 

O let his death aloud proclaim 

To hearts which sink 'neath grief and fear 

•• Look up ! look up ! for freedom's near." 

Yes, yes the strife is nearly done. 

Or God had left this needful one, 

Who on the mountain top hath died 

As Moses did on Xcho's side — 

Like him our promised land he saw 

Beyond the rolling clouds of war. 



AN EPTTIIANATO.N. 117 

A land of peace and happiness 

Which he himself might not possess ; 

For as the diamond's fragments must. 

To polish it, be ground to dust ; 

Her brightest grins our country yields. 

To die upon her battle fields. 

And o'er a mourning nation oust 

The glory of a life that's past. 

And oh ! how brilliant is the bow, 

That from the storm-cloud now doth glow ! 

For though beside hope's vivid green 

The crimson flush of pain is seen. 

See Joy's bright gold in rich relief 

Shine out above our violet grief. 

While next to doubt's dark sombre hue 

Comes freedom's pure and dazzling blue. 

Thus, woven by a Hand Divine. 

Amid the darkest clouds they shine. 

While from them gleams the perfect light 

Of God's own love in spotless white. 

Then chant no dirge and toll no knell. 

But let a glorious anthem swell 

In menvry of the Church's son, 

Who fought the fight and vict'ry worn 



tt8 ^OSSF.S FROM A ROLLING StOKK. 



GENERAL ROBERT E. LEE. 

As went the knight with sword and shield. 

To tournay or to battle field, 

Pledged to the lady fair and true 

For whom his knightly sword he drew ; . 

You offered at your country's call 

" Your life, your fortune and your all ;" 

Pledging your sacred honor high 

For her to live — for her to die. 

With her you cast your future lot, 

And now. without one single spot 

To dim the brightness of your fame. 

Or cast a shadow o'er your name, 

You lay your sword with honor down, 

And wear defeat as 'twere a crown : 

"Nor sit, like Marius, brooding o'er 

A ruin which can rise no more, 

But from your Pavia bear away 

A glory bright'ning every day. 

Above the wreck which round you lies, 

Calm and serene I see you rise, 

A grand embodiment of Pjride, 

Chastened by sorrow and allied 



OKXKHAL ROBERT E. LEE. 11ft 

To disappointment but to show 

How bright your virtues neath it glow ; 

But who may tell how deep its dart 

Is rankling in your noble heart, 

Or dare to pull the robe aside, 

Which Cpesar draws his wounds to hide. 



120 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 



GAN-EDEN, THE QUEEN OF THE AN- 
TILLES. 

Knowest thou that isle of flowers, 
Where the softest breezes blow, 

And the Frost-king never spreadcth 
O'er the earth his pall of snow '. 

Where, like gray old marble vases, 
Crowned" with feath'ry turfs of green, 

Royal palm-trees rise majestic, 
With the cocoas in between \ 

Where the purple-sheathed banana 
Mingles with the sugar cane, 

And the fragrant coffee sheddeth 
Scarlet berries on the plain \ 

Where the guava-apple ripens. 
And zapotes, rough and brown, 

With the mamey and the mango, 
Cast their luscious sweetness down \ 

Where whole fields of ripening anas,* 
With their fragrance load the breeze. 

*Pine-Apples. 



GAN-EDEtf. 121 

And the golden orange glistens 
'Mid the blossoms on the trees ; 

And the ever green poniegranite 

Swings its coral flower-bells, 
When its ruby grains are bursting 

From their russet-colored shells . ; 

For eternal spring and summer 

On this lovely island shine, 
And the bursting hud and flower 

With the ripened fruit entwine. 

In its gardens oleanders 

Breathe their almond-like perfume. 
And the gorgeous passion flower 

Opens wide its crimson bloom. 

There the pale gardinia glistens. 

And the scarlet pinon glows. 
While the gaudy, .guaquamayo 

Wavcth o'er the sweet tube-rose. 

And the blue eonchita twineth 

Round the mar-pacifico, 
While great rose-hued wat< r-lilies 

In dee}> marble basins blow. 

(8) 



128 MOSWES FR*m A ROLTiTNQ STONX. 

o'er their blossoms sparkling fountain* 
Scatter cool and dewy spray. 

As, like jets of liquid silver 
Crowned with rainbow tints, they play, 

While Mi< : cucullos at oven. 

"Insect watchmen of the night," 
On the sleeping leaves and flowers 

Cast their emerald-tinted light. 

Hero the high-born caballero 

Speaks his love in orient style, 
Happy if his tell-tale flower 

Wins him but a single smile ; 

Or his dark-haired senorita, 

In the Danza's mystic maze, 
Lifts her eye, so sol*; and swimming, 

To his warm and tender gaze. 

Tis the Queen of the Antilles. 

Seated on her emerald throne, 
Crowned with ever-blooming flowers, 

And a beauty all tun* own : 

With a grace that's truly regal 

Sits she in her lofty seat, 
Watching o'er her subject islands 

In the ocean at her feet. 



gan-ebGen. 128 

While its waters, blue as heaven, 
Laughing leap upon her breast. 

Where all nature ever seemcth 
For a happy bridal drest. 

Truly is it called Gan-Eden— 

Tis a garden of delight : 
But, alas, the serpent's trailing 

O'er its beauty easts a blight. 

Tyranny and superstition 

Bind the land that should be free, 

Like a deadly jaqua-chacho* 
Bound a stately eeyba tree. 

In their poisonous embraces 

They are holding freedom down, 

And her struggles bring her children 
Nothing but Ihe martyr's crown. 

But, although her arms are shackled. 

Still she is not always mute. 
And the seed by PntTof planted 

Even now is bearing fruit. 

* Pronounced Hackn Macka. 

t Ramon Pinto, executed for treason m (be city oltfavttMi 

>n im. 



1*34 MOSSES FROM A KOLLING STONE. 

Oil, thou noble son of freedom ! 

From thy roll J saw ih.ee led, 
While strong men, like maidens weepinj 

Called down blessings on thy head. 

Biavely didst thou tread the sea Hold. 

Which an altar then became. 
Thou the victim sacrificed, 

To thy country's lasting shame. 

All the beauty smiling round me — 

The eternal summer there, 
With its ever-blooming flowers 

And it< balmy, fragrant air — 

Seemed as nothing then unto me. 

For a gloom was o'er it thrown, 
And the trailing of the serpent 

Met my sadrlenYl gaze alone. 

And 1 said thou art not Eden. 

Oh, thou lovely flower-crowned isle, 
For thou hast not freedom's breezes 

And the sunlight of her smile. 



r B A N 8 1 A T 10WS 



T R A N S L A T I N S . 



ODE SUR NAPOLEON. 
(Augusts Babbibb) 

Genius of France ! who 'neath the sun 

Of thine own Messidor didst stand, 
Free — as a lithe Arabian mare 

Upon her native desert's sand. 
A fierce indomitable mare 

Who knows no bit, nor curb, nor rein- 
Still reeking with the blood of kings 

In thy o'erwhelmning anger slain, 

How wildly beautiful wert thou ! 

Pawing the earth in savage ire. 
Thy supple loins, thy rounded croup, 

Thv head erect, and eve of tire 



128 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STOKE. 

The frightened nations trembling shrank. 

Soon as they heard thy piercing neigh ; 
To fling a bridle o'er thy neck. 

No mortal hand had dared essay; 

Until— oil straight-haired Oorsican! 

Yon came— and boldly seized &er mane, 
Spnmg, Centaur-like, upon her back, 

And broke her to your curb and rein. 
Then— no more freedom — no more rest. 

"Twas always toil and never sleep. 
As, trampling corses like the sand. 

Through blood she waded fetlock deep. 

For twenty years her iron hoof 

The prostrate 1 generations crushed. 
As over conquered nations' necks 

Along the course of time she rushed. 
Till — worn with raising wrath like dust. 

Stirring the mental universe — 
Inciting nations to rebel, 

And bearing on her head their curse ; 

And wearied by her tierce career, 
With neither rest nor goal before. 

Exhausted, panting, without strength. 
Her loins all flecked with human gore, 



ode sri; NAPOLEON. 120 

She asked for mercy at your hand — 

You did not heed her cry : 
Oh cruel man ! hut wrenched the hit. 

And pressed her with your nervous thigh. 

With trembling limbs and broken teeth 
Again she met the battle-shock, 

With one last plunge fell dying there. 
And hurled you. crippled, on yon rock. 



lot) MOSSES FROM A ROLLIKG STONE. 



LE PETIT. 

(Victob Hugo.) 
With dazzling light lie shines in history's fane 
A god with vict'ry captive in his train ; 
His war-like sway laid Europe at his feet ; 
Thou seek'st to ape him, hut in vain, Petit ! 

Mid hurtling storms of grape his eagles fought, 
Led on by him Areola's bridge they sought, 
In battle calm, his vict'ries were complete ; 
Here's gold, come thou and steal, and thieve, Petit ! 

War was his love, Vienna and Berlin, 
Forced mistresses, he only sought to win ; 
A hundred bastiles yielded at his feet ; 
Thy triumphs are o'er courtesans. Petit ! 

His hand the palm and thunder-bolt contained, 
Triumphant o'er the human kind he reigned ; 
With glory drunk — his pulse too madly beat ; 
Here's flowing blood, come thou and quaff, Petit ! 

He fell, and earth the mighty shock confessed. 
Ocean a whirlpool opened in his breast, 
For an Archangel fallen from his seat ; 
Thou wilt be only choked in mire, Petit 1 



ART A>"D THE PEOPLE. 131 



ART AM) THE PEOPLE. 

(Yictob Hueo.) 

I. 

Art is glorious delight ! 

Through the tempest flashing bright, 

Lightning heaven's celestial blue 

With a splendor ever new ; 

Shining on a nation's crest, 

Like stars on the Eternal's breast. 

Art's a grand, a solemn hymn, 
Which the quiet heart doth win : 
Sung by cities to the groves, 
And by man to her he loves ; 
By the voices of the soul 
Joined in one harmonious whole. 

Art is loftiest human thought, 
Art to break each chain hath wrought. 
To th 1 enslaved it freedom brings, 
Hound the free it grandeur flings ; 
Gentle conquerer, to thy song 
Rhine and Tiber both belong. 



MOSSES FKOM A ROLLING STONE. 
II. 

oh ! unconquerable France ! 
Thou whovleadest hope's advance. 
With thy deep but gladsome voice 
Sing, and bid the earth rejoice ; 
Sing this song of peace and love 
Sing, and raise thine eyes above. 

Sing when morn with dew is wet, 
In the evening sing it yet ; 
Smile at ages past away. 
Labor makes the spirit gay : 
Sing it low when love's the song. 
But when Freedom, loud and strom 

Sing of buried Poland's grave. 
Italy, the fair and brave, 
Sing of Hungary agonised. 
Naples, in red blood baptised ; 
Oh ! when thus the people sing. 
Chains o'er tyrants thev may fling. 



< ini.mioon"* universal prayer. 138 



CHILDHOODS UNIVERSAL PRAYER. 

(Vict'ob Hugo.) 

Tis eve — the hour when babes with angels speak — 

For ns they pray to Him who all things sees ; 
That hour when men do most mad pleasure seek— 

Young children lisp their prayers on bended 
knees. 
Day is for labor, weariness and care — 

Eve bringeth childhood's faith — religion deep 
Of love, not fear. Hushed by the simple prayer 

All nature, saving only man. doth sleep. 

Come then, my child, lift up your hands and pray 

For all who, living, walk this earth of graves : 
For those who lightly tread life's flowery way. 

And those who weary battle with its waves. 
Pray thou for those who take a mad delight 

In war's dread pomp and furious rushing steeds; 
For those who laboring, suffer day and night, 

Marking their way with good and evil deeds. 

And pray for him who steeps his soul in sins, 
Who nightly to the dance and banquet flic*, 



134 MOSSKS FUOM A nOT.LTXa STONF.. 

Whose voice from now— when childhood's prayer 
begins — 

Till day-dawn doth in impious orgies rise : 
Who, whilst false pleasure wildly he pursues, 

Heeds not that childish hearts, at twilight dim. 
The incense of their prayers diffuse 

Before that God who heareth them— and him. 

Pray for the poor, my child, and for the wise, 

The sage who thinks, and in his dreams doth 
dwell. 
For him whose son! from crime and misery cries. 

And for the prisoner in his Ion eh cell. 
Pray thou for him who impiously blasphemes. 

Pray, pray, for infinite is prayer ! 
Thy faith o*er unbelief may shed its beam?. 

Andfdraw down heaven's forgiveness there! 



CONFRONTATIONS. 1 35 



CONFRONTATIONS. 

(Victor Hugo.) 

Arise, Oh corpses 1 Lei your assassins stand con- 
test— 

Speak — who hath plunged those daggers in each 
bleeding breast i 

Thou first pale shade, thy name and thy foul mur- 
derer tell— - 

•• I am Religion, and before the Priest I fell." 

Who cometh next \ " Virtue and Reason— hand 
in hand 

With murdered Honesty and Modesty we stand.'' 

Who was it cut your throat- \ Speak — and aloud 
proclaim 

Unto the world at large the base assassin's name— 

• The CrrtTiicTi.*' And thou— who art thou? " I 
am Public Faith, 

Who by the false accursed Oath was put to death." 

And he who bathed in blood lies by thy side ? 

%> My name was Justice — by the Judge's hand 1 
died." 

Thou next, who bcarcst a swordlcss scabbard — 
round whose head, 



136 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 

Defiled with mire, the rays of glory once were 

spread, 
Advance, Oh grand, gigantic shade and tell thy 

name — 
•• Tis Austerlftz, and by the armv I was slain." 



FABLE— OB HISTORY. 187 



FABLE— OR HISTORY. 

(Victor Htrao. i 

A hungry Ape one summer's day. 
Did idly through a forest stray. 
His appetite was truly royal 
And unto it he was most loyal. 
A tiger's skin was wrapt around 
His long, lean limbs, and swept the ground 
The noble beast had been ferocious— 
The Ape was worse— he was atrocious — 
He gnashed his teeth and cried ! "I'm JCing- 
The king of Night — and I will bring 
These thickets all beneath my sway. 
Here, none my will shall disobey." 
Then on the neighboring land he poured 
Rapine and murder, fire and sword. 
Did w r hat a tiger might have clone, 
Till all believed he must be onr\ 
u Look at my cavern full of bone?." 
He cried in loud bombastic" tones. 
" I am a Tiger — all must fly 
Before my steps, or they shall dir "' 

m 



188 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 

But while he speaks with loudest din, 
We tear aside the covering skin 
And show the monkey hid below, 
Who dares not strike another blow. 



DEDICATION — CHILDE HAROLD. 139 



DEDICATION OF THE LAST CANTO OF THE 
PILGRIMAGE OF CHILDE HAROLD. 

(LAMAIITINK.) 

Rememb'rest tliou that day of yore 

When up Seleve's side we climbed \ 
With manly pride thou walkedst before 

Whilst I more slowly toiled behind, 
And soon was forced to pause and rest 

Upon a rock hung o'er the height, 
Whilst thou, undaunted, upward prest 

Beyond my eager longing sight. 
I saw the branches of the pine 

While slowly parting o'er thy head, 
On noble daring such as thine 

The dewy tears of morning shed. 
Beneath thy feet a torrent dashed, 

And 'gainst the scarred and furrowed rock 
Its waters into foam were lashed, 

While earth was trembling neath the shock 
In the far west a gathering cloud 

Hung dark and frowning in the air. 
Whilst in the east the breath of morn 

Unveiled the beauties hidden there. 



14(1 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STOlsK. 

And showed the Heaven's own limpid hue, 
Like Leman's waves of dazzling blue. 

Then, all at once upon a cliff 

Where thou ha&st climbed I saw thee rest, 
Point with thy finder to the abyss, 
The stream, the heavens, the frowning crest 
That I their beauty too might see, 
But I could only gaze on thee. 

Thine eye embraced the sc ;ne below, 

Thy foot r^emod scare? the earth to know. 
Thy bosom heaved with feelings pent 
And sought to give its transport vent, 
As captive waves in narrow space confined. 
Fret, chafe and moan before the rising wind, 

Tlie cascade's spray was upward flung, 

Entangling rays of every shade 
Its folds of vapor round thee hung. 

As though in light thou wert arrayed. 
Thy picture then no words can paint. 
By thee each image seemeth faint. 
Thou wert most like the winged thought 
With which a. pious dream is fraught. 
When from the heart wherein it lies. 
Like sacred incense, it doth rise 
Towards God. and hovers in the skies. 



DEDICATION — CHILDE HAROLD. 141 

The moment lied, but leaves its trace 

Upon this fragile monument, 
Where I thy name unbidden place 

In inem'ry of thy bold ascent. 
Thy hand may blot it from my line, 
But in my heart 't will always shine. 
Nor are my verses wholly vain, 
If thou canst not the tear restrain 
Which rises while I strike my lyre ; 

At least these words thou'lt not refuse : 
" The song which moves me I inspire. 

And my remembrance is his muse,' 1 



H2 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE, 

NUPTIAL HYM1S OF THE MODERN GREEKS 

(LAMARTINE. i 

Scatter, scatter narcissus and roses 
Over the couch where beauty reposes ! 

Wherefore weep'st thou, dark-eyed daughter 

*Tis no day Tor tears and gloom, 
Like a lily o'er the water, 

Bending with its sweet perfume, 
Hangs thy head, as o'er thee flashes 
Love's bright glow in rosy I .lushes. 

Scatter, scatter narcissus and roses 
Over the couch where beauty reposes. 
Tis thy lover thou dost hear, 

Take the ring that seals his iamc, 
Wear it without doubt or fear, 
Trembling but with maiden shame, 
If thy love burns in his soul. 
There *t will glow while this is whole. 

Scatter, scatter narcissus and rosi 
Over the couch where beauty reposes. 
In thy hand the torch is burning 
§aered unto nuptial bliss, 



NUPTIAL HYMN OF THE MODERN CKEEKS. 143 

Let thy heart so fondly yearning, 
Feed a flame as pure as this ; 
Shedding e'er its sweet perfume 
O'er life's pathway to the tomb. 

Scatter, scatter narcissus and roses. 
Over the couch where beauty reposes. 
Crowned kids around are playing 

By young maidens brought to thee. 
Like them, in the meadow straying 
Soon thy children thou shalt see. 
New-born joys that crown the life 
Of the mother and the wife. 

Scatter, scatter narcissus and roses. 
Over the couch where beauty reposes. 
In the valley wreath the myrtle 

That shall shade thy infant's head, 
Learn the cooing oi* the turtle 
As thou mak'st his little bed ; 
In the summer's golden prime 
Ready make for harvest time. 

Scatter, scatter narcissus and roses 
Over the couch where beauty reposes. 
Canst thou murmur like the water 
^Vs it ripples o'er the stones < 



144 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STOKE. 

Woman is but nature's daughter — 
Let her learn her mothers tones. 
Practice now the notes that best 
Lull the infant to its rest. 



THE BUTTERFLY. 145 



THE BUTTERFLY. 

(LaMAUTIXK.) 

Born with the spring, and dying as the roses die. 

On wings of zephyr floating 'neath a summer sky. 

Resting upon the bosom of each ilower in bloom. 

Intoxicated with their beauty and perfume — 

This is the butterfly— life hath for him no sting — 

He's always yqung, and beautiful, and on the wing ; 

Whilst upward — ever upward in each careless 
flight 

The painted down floats from his wings into the 
light. 

Such is that love which knows no rest and no re- 
pose. 

Flitting, now to the lily, then unto the rose. 

Hipping from every ilower. but drinking deep of 
none — 

Forever on the wing for a more glorious one ; 

But, as the down floats e'er the butterfly above, 

Imagination soars to a more perfect love. 



146 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 



LINES ON AN ALBUM. 

(Lahartine.) 

The book of Life's the book supreme, 

It opes not, shuts not at our will, 
But of themselves the pages turn, 

And we must read both good and ill: 
Its sweetest leave- are spread but once, 

When back to lote we lain would fly 
Beneath our eager ftngers next 

The page of death perchance mat lit 1 



THE SNAIL. 141 

THE SNAIL. 

(A. V. Arnault.) 

Without a friend, with no sweet ties, 

To all on earth a stranger; 
Withdrawing in his shelt'ring shell 

At every sign of danger. 
Loving himself with tend'rest love. 

Unseen in stormy weather, 
His narrow house he fills alone. 

For self lives altogether. 
Impure is every trace he leaves, 

He mischief works each hour, 
And with Ids kisses or his bite 

Defaces every flower ; 
lie with old age more sluggish grows, 

And closer keeps his cell ; 
Thus, of the egotist and snail 

At once the life I tell. 



148 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 

THE WITHERED LEAF. 

(A. V. Aknavi.t. ) 

Torn from thy stem by some rude gale. 

Where wand'rcst thou, poor leaf so frail >. 

Alas ! I know not ; fair to view. 

Once on a noble oak I grew, 

But, when the storm burst o'er its head. 

I with tir inconstant zephyr tied. 

Since then o'er hill and vale I've strayed, 

Where'er the summer winds have played. 

Hither and thither, without thought, 

Nothing I fear, complain of naught ; 

Soon I shall crumble into dust, 

And float away where all things must. 

And where is that i Oh whither goes 

The withered laurel — the faded rose i 



TUT. TALL OF THK J/EAVKS. 149 



THE FALL OF THE LEAVES. 

(Mn.i.Kvoii:. i 

Autumn had robbed the trees to fling, 

His worthless spoil upon the ground, 
Laid bare the mysteries of the grove 

And hushed the wild bird's joyous pound. 
When to a wood where he had loved 

In earlier — happier — days to stray. 
A broken-hearted, dying man 

For the last time did wend his way. 
" Farewell, oh wood ! I yield," he said, 

•'Your mourning shows me fate's decree : 
For every withered leaf that falls 

Brings sentence of my death to me. 
A fatal oracle art thou. 

Which mournfully to me doth say : 
For the last time before thine 6?es 

The yellow leaves now pass away ! 
The cypress round thy brow is twined. 

For thee no more the rose shall bloom. 
.More pale than pallid autumn's self 

Thy foot-steps totter towards the tOftib, 



150 MOSSES FROM A HOLLING STONE. 

Thy youth shall wither ere the grass 
* Now covering yonder field is dead, 
Before the vine upon the bill 

Its sere and yellow leaf has shed. 
And I musl die ! With their cold breath 

The autumn winds around me play, 
Like a vain shadow I have seen 

My glorious spring-time pass away ! 
Fall ! fall ! ye faded leaves, and hide 

This narrow. path from every eye, 
Hide from my mother's wild despair 

The lonely spot where I must lie. 
But if the maiden whom I love 

Should ever wander here at eve. 
To drop a tear upon my grave, 

Or o'er my mem ry sadly grieve, 
Make to my spirit some slight sign, 

That I may not unconscious lie, 
But draw sweet comfort from her grid 

And answer back her teneler sigh " — 
He gazed around with swimming eyes, 

Then slowly turned his steps away, 
And the last leaf that quivering fell 

Served but to mark his dying day. 
Beneath the oak where he foretold 

His early doom, a grave w r as made ; 



THE PALL OF THE LEAVER 151 

But ah ! his mistress never came 
To sit and weep where he was laid ; 

She never trod that narrow path. 

As he had hoped, in evening's gloom; 

The valley shepherd's step alone 
Disturbed the silence of his tomb. 



152 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 



PRAY FOR ME. 

(MlLLBTOTB.) 

Tis eve — all nature weary seems. 

The breeze in silence dies away, 
While through my dying chamber gleams 

The fading glories of the day. 
The vesper bell calls all to prayer. 

Its music from the church is shed ; 
Rut oh ! kind maiden, go not there, 

Stay — tell your rosary by my bed. 

Vm dying with the dying' year, 
My days, though weary, are but few, 

And I shall be no longer here 

When autumn leaves the grass shall strew. 
When from yon belfry tolls my knell. 

And I have gone from all my woe. 
For me your rosary maiden tell. 

And pray my soul sweet peace may know. 

And oh ! when one in sable robe 
Shall to my grave in silence glide. 

Seek not with curious glance to probe 
The secret wound she fain would hide. 



PftAt for >rr.. loS 

She was my love — respect her weeds, 

For her my life I'd give away ; 
And, when at eve you toll your bead-. 

Oh! for us both, kind maiden, pray. 



{10) 



154 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 

CLASP THY LITTLE HANDS. 

('Anonymous.) 

Clasp tby little hands, my child, 

For it is the close of day, 
And yon star, with lustre mild, 

Tells us it is time to pray. 
Not a single sound is heard, 

Save the bell in holy place, 
Which, Avhen ringing, bids us all 
Kneel and pray for heavenly grace. 
Clasp thy little hands, my child. 

For it is the close of day, 
And yon star, with lustre mild. 
Tells us it is time to pray. 

Clasp thy little hands, my child, 

See, as darkness draweth near, 
From the jas'mine's yellow flower 

Every bee doth disappear ; 
Folded are the silvered wings 

Of the azure butterfly, 
And amid the waving grass 

Till the morning it will lie. 



CTASr THY LITTLE HANDS. 155 

(Lisp thy little hands, my child, 

For it is the close of day, 
And yon shir, with lustre mild. 

Tells us it is lime to pray. 

Clasp thy little hands, my child, 

Kneel, my darling, kneel and pray. 
For a happy morn awaits 

Children who thus end the day. 
Listen to thy mother's prayer, 
Tis that, waking' or asleep, 
Round about thee, day and night, 
Angels loving watch may keep. 

Clasp thy little hands, my child. 

For it is l lie close of day. 

And yon star, with lustre mild, 

Tells us it is time to pray. 



MOSSES from A ROIitiTNG STOKE. 



TEARS. 

i HliTA i'fASR).') 

Tears arc the language of the heart, 
And with each deep emotion start, 
Rending its stony crust apart. 

Like molten lava they may flow, 
Nor bring ivli. f unto the woe. 
The soul does in such sorrow know. 

And then, like softiiing summer shower. 
Refreshing every leaf and flower, 
They fall with gently soothing power. 

They [low with linger, shame and grief, 
They come with rapture's transport brief. 
And bring the swelling heart relief. 

Hope only shows its rainbow dyes 
Reflected in the tears which rise, 
When disappointment clouds the skies. 

Oh ! erring hearts, so frail and weak 1 
Why will ye all your rapture seek, 
Where it in tears alone can speak ( 



157 



Look up! and see hope's brillitnt bow 

In faith's blue heaven with promise glow 
There — only there — true bliss ve "!1 know. 



158 MOSSES FKOM A ROLLING STONE. 



WHAT IS LOVE.' 

i Dante.) 

Tin' gen'rous heart is but the same, 
The wise man saith, as (rue love's flame ; 
Each must the other 1 i life q ssist, 
Neither alone can e'er exist. 
.\s reason to reasoning soul ' s akin, 
True lo . • to g n'j ous heart is twin. 
Nature in urish ; ■■ lid cr 
Each as the other's fitting mate. 
Love is a king —the gen'rous heart 
l!:s palace — wrought with (anions art, 
Within whose inner chamber wails 
He lies asleep till beauty calls. 
Sometimes but brief repose he takes, 
Then, slumbers long, and slowly wakes. 
When sense with beauty joins to please 
The observant eye, which, watchful sees 
.These charms combine to wake desire 
The pleasing object to acquire, 
Which grows and strengthens, till from sleep, 
Full armed for conquest, love doth leap. 
Thus beauty acts on manly worth, 
Which in her heart to love gives birth. 



MUST I FORGET?" 159 



" MUST I FORGET ?" 

(*NONYMOUS.) 

And is it so ? And must we meet 
With cold indifference, now ? 

Must I forget the living fire 

You've pressed upon my brow i 
Must I forget my head hath lain 

Against your throbbing breast, 
As you, in love's abandonment, 

My loosened hair carest ? 
Must I forget my very soul 

On yours has helpless hung, 
As o'er my woman's weakness, you 

The strength of manhood flung ? 
Must I forget \ I will forget, 

And you shall never know 
The fierce, volcanic fire, which burns 

Beneath indifference 1 snow. 
Like marble I will set the lips 

Which quivered 'neath your own, 
While from my voice pride shall extract 

Love's tenderness of tone. 



UK) MOSSES FROM A KOIJiINO SToNtt. 

I know your coldly jealous heart 

Would rather for its sake. 
Beneath the weight you've on it laid. 

My woman's one should break. 
] know you'd rather rage and hate 

Should in my bosom burn, 
Than that the lava in my veins 

T<> hardened stone should turn. 
I will not feign my heart is ice. 

You know it is not so : 
Hut 1 will make you keenly feel 

For you it does not glow ; 
Feel that another reigns supremo 

When.' you were king alone : 
And with this poisoned arrow pierce 

Your jealous heart of stone. 



KKAITY AND VIRTUE. lGt. 



BEAUTY A.M.) VIRTUE. 

(Dante's Vita Nuovo.) 

Two Loves have I, of equal force", 
Who in ni}' bosom oft discourse ; 
A modest prudence hath the one, 
In courtesy excelled by none ; 

This virtue is, who lives for duty. 
And by her sits enchanting beauty. 
With lively elegance around her thrown. 
And every winning grace her own. 
I. thanks to my sov'reign lord so sweet. 
In love with both, lie at their feet : 
They, like true women, doubt express 
Each that the other hath excess, 
And seek this question to decide : 
•• Can loyal heart its love divide if" 
The fount of eloquence replies. 
At once for both true love may rise. 
Beauty, to yield delight man needs. 
Virtue, to prompt to pen'rous deeds. 



162 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 



FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 

(DANTE'S ilNFERNfO 

I said: "Francesca, thy sad tale 
Hath made my heart with sorrow wail, 
And my eyes weep till tears did tail ; 
But in thy season of sweet sighs 
What caused thy passion to arise, 
His dim desire to recognise V 
Then she, " the greatest of all woes 
Is that which from the mem'ry flows 
Of joy the soul no longer knows ; 
But if your sympathy doth prey 
Upon your heart, I '11 even say 
How first our passion saw the day ; 
We read — oh ne'er to be forgot ! 
Alone, in some secluded spot, 
How love enchained brave Lancelot ; 
Our eyes oft met, our cheeks in hue 
Resembled roses wet with dew, 
And then aside the book we threw ; 
For as we read how in her pride 
To taste her Dover's lips she sighed. 



PRANCE8CA DA RIMINI. llSo 

He, who from me naught can divide, 
Pressed on my mouth so warm a kiss 
PTe trembled both with new-born bliss. 
And turned no other leaf than this." 



164 MOSSES PROM A ROLLING STONE 



INVOCATION TO DEATH. 

(PlBTRO BEMBO.1 

Oil Death ! stern monarch of despair \ 

Whom nature trembles to beholjd, 
Come unto me, the child of care, 

A;ul touch me with your fingers cold. 
Voitr power alone can bring relief. 
And change io slumber this wild grief. 
The stroke which bids existence cease, 

Though it shall, thrill each quivering vein. 
[11 welcome as a bright release 

Which stills the spirit's sharper pain : 
Death's pangs n ay be less keen than those 
Which in its prime life often knows. 



THE ECHO OF ftfS HARP. Hi' 



THE ECHO OF THE HARP. 
(Madame Amable Tastv.) 

As -when some wandering night wind sweep? 

Across a harp its viewless wings, 
And wakes the whispering tone which sleeps 

Forever in its silent strings: 
Across my bosom's hidden lyre. 

Touched by the muse's hand alone 
Sweeps fancy's wing, my soul to lire. 

And give its sleeping music tone. 
Her glorious thoughts, her lovely dreams. 

Like flowers she scatters as she Hies, 
And though to heaven the music streams. 

The echo in my bosom lies. 



160 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 



DEATH. 

(Madame Amable Tastu.) 

The infant smiles upon the shore 
Of life's broad sea that 's spread before, 
Nor to the horizon turns his eyes 
To mark a little cloud arise,; 
To him the sky is a i ways bright, 
His lovely morning knows no night, 
Rocked in delighl he Laughs and sings, 
Till death sweep3 by on angel wings; 
Only his mother sees the cloud, 
And feels that it his life will shroud. 
But when through time's relentless hand 
Hath glided childhood's golden sand, 
The you tii starts back in cold affright 
From the veiled phantom in his sight ; 
For in the bosom of his play, 
Or treading wisdom's flowery way, 
A sudden restlessness will bring 
Back to his heart that fearful thing. 
Then comes an hour when blinded youth 
In all its beauty first sees truth ; 



DEATH. 167 

The drunkenness of dreaming flies, 

And grief's first tear bedews the eye- ; 

The form unmantleth to the sight 

And death is there — but death so bright— 

Like a young angel he appears, 

Crowned with pale flowers bedewed with tears. 

No sound of fear eomes with his feet. 

He is a friend youth stops to greet ; 

Tie smiles and presses to the ground 

The flame with which life's torch is crowned 

His lips breathe slumber upon pain. 

He points to heaven and smiles again. 

But lo! the angel waxeth proud, 

He casts aside the veiling cloud. 

And stands before the heart forlorn 

In all the loftiness of scorn. 

Man's spirit then before him quakes, 

He opes his mighty hand and takes 

All in his path. Cased in his mail 

The warrior feels his heart turn pale, m 

As death thus cometh — nigher — nigher — 

And ceaseless towers — higher — higher. 

Again his face he veils in cloud. 

As when by years and sorrow bowed 

The soul the boundary of its way 

Approaches quickly, and each day 



u;s 



MOSSES FftOM A ROLLING STOSTE. 



Upon it hangs tlie weight bf years. 
As silentlj and without tears 
Before death's dreadful feet we kneel 
And hi s dark presence round us feel, 



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